Concealed
by mistywabbit
Summary: Left behind, Daine and Numair flee Carthak and Ozorne, but not before Numair falls afoul of Ozorne's Gift. On their return to Corus, the pair discover they are no safer from Ozorne in Tortall than they were in Carthak... An alternative to RotG
1. Prologue

**This is an AU story, but bear with me! I've totally disregarded everything (and including) from the end of EM, right through to RotG. In theory though, it should weave _almost_ seamlessly back into TP's overall scheme after that, other than a few missing threads. If you're confused at any point, let me know!**

**I'll be dealing with quite a distressing topic for most of the fic. For someone who is quite squeamish, I've found it quite hard to write, and as a result, I've cut out some of the more gruesome parts – for my own sake as much as yours. Anyway, I'm warning you now. There will be physical and psychological traumas for the characters – please remember that if they seem OOC (it's not just an excuse for rubbish characterisation, honest!). I've done a lot of research on this topic as well, but if you have good knowledge or anything to add to it, please, let me know! All help is appreciated! Whilst I may not agree with certain assessments the characters make of themselves, it is what I think – through common sense, experience and study – that they might be feeling. The mind can be as much of a weapon towards the body as a sword – or, in this case, the Gift.**

**Disclaimer:** **I'm a penniless student. I don't own much, and certainly not Tortall and her population. And seeing as I'm currently looking for a job, you can be assured I don't make money out of being a fanfic author either. (Though, if anyone finds a way you can, be sure and let me know! ;) ) The characters herein are the creation of Tamora Pierce.**

**_"... there is life after them to be considered. When we go home, it would be hard to stop Ozorne's spies from trying to hurt either of you."_ - Alanna.**

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**Prologue**

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An almighty crash pulled his most serene and Imperial Majesty, Ozorne Muhassin Tasikhe, the famed Emperor Mage of Carthak, rudely from his musings. Standing, he moved from his desk to the window of his royal apartment. Everywhere, animals were running amok in panic and confusion, and, it became clear to him as their display continued, anger. He smiled. "She's awake," he murmured to Master Chioké, his head mage. 

He sat back down, safe in the knowledge that Veralidaine Sarrasri could not escape his hold. Locked safely in the underground rooms, prevented from magical detection, she would not be leaving until he said so. With Arram Draper already taken care of, and the Tortallan delegation gone in disgrace, war was a certainty, and he had the one weapon that would not only overcome the legendary power of the Dominion Jewel, but that the Tortallans would most likely do anything to regain. Everything was going to plan.

It wasn't until a rude rapping on the door dragged him from reading a particularly prolix document on the effects of the drought on the Empire's most recent territorial gains in the far south and how it could be combated by mining precious minerals for export, that he realised that everything might not be going as well as could be expected.

"Enter!" he snapped.

A bumbling red robe burst into the study, bowing profusely. "Your Imperial Majesty, Sir, Your Highness –"

"Get to it!" Ozorne hissed.

"The girl – she's awake, and the Hall of Bones – the skeletons – they're alive!"

Ozorne dismissed the suggestion with a flick of his hand. "Impossible."

The man shook his head. "I beg your pardon, your Imperial Majesty, but they are. She's cast some spell over them. They're moving. Already they have destroyed the Imperial Storerooms, and are attacking the Treasury."

Could it be that some part of this wild magic that he had once been so scathing of, involved the ability to bring those back to life who had ceased to live? That could explain why the Tortallans were so protective over a girl-child. A weapon indeed. He turned to Chioké.

"Leave," his head mage told him. "I will stay here in case they attack."

Ozorne nodded. He had expected no less from the man. "Come," he told the younger mage. Hurrying through his rooms, he entered the aviary, uncharacteristically silent. "The birds?" he whispered to the red robe.

"Gone, your Majesty."

"No," he whispered. For a moment he lost his balance, leaning heavily on the table which he often used. The table rocked, and the decanter which rested upon it smashed upon the flagstone floor. Silence followed the sound, until he heard a yell outside his rooms. Straightening immediately, Ozorne hurried through the rest of the aviary. With the birds gone, and no time to waste, he used his Gift to punch through the glass walls. Outside, he found two squads of the Palace Guard and Red Legion waiting for him, their weapons raised in readiness. All bowed as he entered the gardens. "We have no time for this," Ozorne informed them tersely. "We must find the girl and control her. Half of you will stay here and protect my rooms." The Palace Guard bowed to him, and returned inside to wait with Chioké.

"And the skeletons, your Majesty?" one of the Commanders asked, as several men made the Sign against Evil on their chests.

"We will kill them," he said simply.

"But –"

Ozorne snapped his gaze to the man who had dared to interrupt him. The man froze with fear as he realised what he'd done.

"Begging your pardon, your most Imperial Majesty," the man stammered, "but we've tried – nothing works."

"Then you obviously haven't been trying hard enough," he said coldly. Turning to lead the men into the gardens, Ozorne came face to face with the stuff of nightmares. Four large dinosaurs advanced. So the mage had been telling the truth.

"Guards!" he snapped, calling his own Gift to the surface. Muttering a favoured spell and shaping his Gift to correspond, he sent it flying at the huge snake neck. He had to admit, now he saw them, there was no real way that the soldiers could use mere swords and spears on these beasts; the Gift was the only way. The red robe attacked a great four-toothed elephant, as Ozorne rounded on a plated lizard. Only when the final plated lizard was dead did Ozorne glance at his men. Taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his face, he straightened his clothes.

"Come," he told them. Setting a brisk pace, the men followed and fanned around him as they passed through the southern wing of the Palace and into the gardens, heading for the Storerooms, hoping to intercept Veralidaine and her unlikely army. Fighting could be heard at every turn, and clouds of smoke rolled upwards from the Imperial Treasuries.

Suddenly, a familiar figure appeared on the path ahead of them, running towards them, skirts hitched up. Signalling for his guard to lower their weapons, he called out, "Mistress Kingsford!"

The woman froze, glancing nervously from him to the path behind her. "Your Majesty," she said finally, curtseying.

"You look distressed," he said amiably.

Varice glanced over her shoulder again. "I'm just – shocked."

Ozorne nodded his head in polite understanding. "A sight such as this must be distressing for one such as yourself. Especially," he added with a sneer, "after the events of yesterday." He smiled cruelly at the expression which crossed her face before she composed herself. "Have you seen Mistress Sarrasri?" he enquired politely. "I would like a word with her."

Varice shook her head, staring at the ground.

"Come, my dear. You and I both know that is untrue. Unless you'd like to meet the same fate as your beloved Master Draper?"

Wordlessly, Varice pointed across the gardens and towards the Palace. Ozorne smiled coldly. "You shall be rewarded for your actions today," he told her. "Now leave."

Curtseying to him once more, she headed quickly in the opposite direction, her face pale and tear-streaked. Leading the group of soldiers once more, he hurried in the course Varice had pointed to him, running along the paved paths now.

A speech spell crackled to life next to his ear. Halting suddenly, he opened his hands, creating a globe for the spell to flow into. "Emperor," Chioké's voice came.

"What?" Ozorne snapped as he began to walk again. He was only too well aware of how close he was to his prey, and he could not risk losing her now.

"Emperor," the mage repeated. "It's Master Draper – he lives."

"He _what?_"

The man's voice grew in confidence. "He lives. He was spotted by one of the mages near the Palace. He was looking for his student."

"How can he live? I watched his execution!"

He could hear the fear in his mage's voice. "Maybe _she_ did it, and they became separated somehow."

Ozorne considered this as he closed his globe. For all that it did not seem likely that Veralidaine could raise the dead, she had clearly done so in the shape of the dinosaurs. That meant she could also have raised Arram. He considered this carefully, stroking his jaw line as he walked. It seemed even less likely that Draper would allow himself to become separated from the girl, but if indeed it was the case that he was alive, he might not have brought his complete mind back with him, which would explain that. It was also likely that Veralidaine would lead him straight to Arram. He quickened his pace.

Closer now, he could hear the sounds of the skeletons as they wrought chaos in their path. Finally, after just a few minutes more, he could see them. Signalling his guard to a halt, and composing himself, he called on his Gift, readying his plan in his mind.

"Mistress Sarrasri!" he shouted. The girl, astride a mammoth, froze at his words. "I am somewhat displeased with you. Is this anyway to treat your new home?"

She turned to face him, her small army turning with her. "'New home'?" she spat. "You're sorely mistaken if you think I'm staying here."

Ozorne laughed. "And how do you propose to leave? You're on your own," he pointed out. "And I doubt you could fly the length of the Inland Sea."

"Whether I can or I can't is no business of yours," she snapped. "You – you're nothing but a monster." Her voice became a harsh whisper. "You killed him."

He wondered briefly at her words. Maybe she didn't want him to know yet, in which case, it was best to pretend he didn't. Then the trap could be laid. "It was necessary."

"He did nothing wrong! He followed your pardon to the letter."

"Come now, Veralidaine. That is untrue. He was plotting treason against your Emperor."

"You are _not_ my ruler," she spat. "And if he plotted anything against you, it was because you deserved it."

Ozorne laughed. He saw the girl twist her hands in the mammoth's fur in fury. "And this is your proposed method of vengeance?" he asked lightly.

"It seems to be working," she spat.

He shook his head. How disillusioned the poor girl was. "I think, now that you have shown me the extent of your powers, it is time to come with me."

"No."

"Veralidaine, this will be so much easier for both of us, and so much less painful for you, if you come now," he told her calmly, smiling broadly.

"Never," she spat. "You're just a plain monster." She nudged the mammoth forwards, and it broke into a run, charging him. Leaping to the side, and out of the way of the rampaging dinosaurs, Ozorne cast his spell, an emerald green net falling lightly over the girl. Crooking his finger, she lifted from the mammoth's back, suspended in the air, fighting the bonds of his spell.

"Let me _go!_" she screamed. Her arms and legs flailed furiously, and he closed the weave of the magical net he had created, so it bound her arms and legs to her body. Whispering a few more well chosen words, the girl fell silent and still. Gently, Ozorne lowered the unconscious Veralidaine to the ground and released her from the confines of his spell. "Imprison her," he commanded his men. "See that she does not escape."

"Where should we take her, your Majesty?"

Ozorne frowned. To return her to the underground rooms, where she had once already escaped from, would require both time and his presence, neither of which could be spared with Draper seemingly upon the grounds. Suddenly an idea struck him; a holding place she could make no escape from. _No one could escape from_, he added smugly to himself. "The Immortals' Menagerie. Hold her there."

The men exchanged uneasy looks with one another before he snapped, "Now! We have to find Draper before the day is finished."

The soldiers scurried into action, dragging the unconscious Veralidaine between two of them. Ozorne followed behind, keen to ensure that this time she was imprisoned correctly. He wanted to activate the spells himself.

Mistress Veralidaine Sarrasri would not slip through his fingers once more. Instead, she would be his bait.


	2. Chapter 1: Flight of the Dead

**Thank you to all my reviewers! I was hoping you'd like it, but I wasn't expecting quite so positive a reaction: ) I do have one request though: If you're going to favourite or put alerts on my work, can you please review me too? It's not much really, you're already clicking that button in the bottom-left corner, and pressing a few more of the ones that are attached to your keyboard makes me feel all warm inside! No, really, it's only polite... Also, I'm going away for a few days, so I won't be able to reply to anything (or update) until Sunday.**

**These aren't my own characters, and this isn't my own world. These creations belong to Tamora Pierce. The twisted imagination is all mine though, and I wouldn't have it any other way!**

**Chapter 1**

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Numair frowned as he hurried through the Imperial Gardens. Why had he _never_ thought to make a focus of his student? It would make tasks such as this a great deal easier, especially at a moment when time was of the essence. More to the point, why hadn't he _told_ Daine about his simulacrum in the first place – then she might not have believed him dead. He needed to find Daine quickly; already he knew their Tortallan ship had set sail. How they would rejoin it in the Inland Sea he was yet contrive; for the moment though, his sole focus was on the search for his errant – or more likely, _abducted_ – student. 

Mind plotting furiously as he ran, Numair listed all the things he had on his person that could be used in place of a well-made device. Any possession of hers that he held… Numair grimaced. He had not even a handkerchief as evidence of his student's existence. For all his contingency plans, he had forgotten the most obvious solution. That would be rectified as soon as they returned to Corus, he decided. At one of the first opportunities, he would find himself something with enough of her essence to provide a suitable focus.

At least he knew one thing. Daine was active. She had clearly escaped Ozorne's first attempt at captivity. Already, smoke billowed from the Palace into the dusky night sky, and the flicker of flames could be seen from the west wing of the building. He had to wonder exactly what torrent of destruction she had released; he couldn't remember a time when Daine had ever _really_ lost control of her temper, not in a battle situation anyway, but if ever there were to be a time, he supposed this would be it. He knew that she had been informed of his 'death' by Kaddar, who had been most shocked to see the mage alive and well when the prince had arrived at Lindhall's rooms in the university not long before dusk. The image the man had painted of the cold and calculating Daine did not seem to fit with the one Numair held in his mind of his student, but then, she had never been in a situation _quite_ like this before. She may have acted largely on her own in Dunlath, but she had also been following _his_ instructions. Here, she thought herself alone and abandoned and held captive by her teacher's murderer. Numair didn't even want to hazard a guess at her reaction.

He rounded a hedge, relieved to discover that his knowledge of the place still held true. If he was right, then he was nearing the menagerie.

Where there were animals, there was often Daine.

He stopped in shock at the sight that met his eyes. A body lay against the palace walls, and what seemed to be – suddenly, the knowledge of Daine's activities made itself very apparent to Numair. She had woken the dinosaurs.

He walked over to the charred remains of two skeletons. He squinted for a moment, trying to discern their species, before a quite moan behind him made him spin about. His eyes cast about in the gloomy light, trying to discover its source, before his eyes alighted on a man swathed in red.

For a long moment, all was still and quiet, the only noise to be heard the crackle of flames and distant screams. Numair was beginning to consider that the man had died, when the rumpled bundle made another noise.

This time he spoke.

"It's you, isn't it?"

Numair only shook his head. "I don't know what you mean."

"No," the man became more insistent as his body became weaker. "He put you to your death, only yesterday. I saw!" Even as his breathing became harsh, his voice laboured, the man seemed more and more certain of Numair's identity. "You were executed. But, if I can see you now, does that mean –"

The man fell silent. Numair glanced at him, before turning back to study the skeletons before him. The man was clearly delusional, and Numair couldn't blame him. Surely, his thoughts would be confused if he were about to die. The mage made another noise over his shoulder, and Numair glanced at him.

To his horror, a flickering rust red ball glowed in the man's hands. A speech globe.

Numair swore silently; he would be reported sighted. That meant he and Daine had even less time to consider their escape. It meant he had less time to find her. Breaking into a run, he sprinted towards the menagerie. Rounding another corner, he stopped dead in his tracks. A squad of Red Legion troops stood between him and his goal. Ducking back behind the hedge and pressing himself into it, he prayed he hadn't been noticed.

If the soldiers were posted on what he could remember as the sole entrance into the menagerie, there was no way he would be able to get inside. He also knew that the likelihood Daine was trapped inside was higher.

He couldn't cast an invisibility spell; he knew that there would be at least one trained mage within the group, not to mention those that guarded the gates. Similarly, he couldn't place an illusion on either himself or the group without a high chance of detection. He hated having to think on the trot; he often had a tendency to come to rash conclusions with nasty consequences, but he knew he could not blast his way into the menagerie without drawing considerable attention and opposition to himself.

_Fly_, he thought suddenly.

If he could not pass the men normally, there was one thing he could do. He could go over them. A bird, however oversized, would likely go unnoticed at a moment like this, and it was the best way he could find to avoid detection. Taking a deep breath, he let his magic flow around his body, filling him completely before taking on the form of the hawks of his Tyran homeland that he had studied for so long. His lungs changed shape, his other vital organs fitting themselves around them, his ribcage and spine shrinking and adjusting as his bones hollowed out and shrank, hairs turned to feathers. He winced at the grating pain that accompanied the change, reminding himself that this was one of the primary reasons he did _not_ accompany Daine on flights as she was so often asking him to do. When he knew the change was complete, he flexed his wings, testing the muscles in them and the ability of his Gift to sustain the change. Pumping his wings for a second, he took off in his faltering fashion into the darkening sky.

He had begun to have given up hope of finding Daine in the menagerie at all when he remembered the immortals' enclosures. Surely there the spells would be far stronger than those that contained the animals, and there was less chance of a guard if Ozorne had had any hand in their making. Swooping low over the entrance, he scanned the contents of the cages closely, until he found what he wanted.

Daine sat on the floor of the cage adjoining to that of the Stormwings'. Curled into the foetal position around a sleeping Kitten, no doubt feeling the effects of being caged, and more than likely in furious conversation with every animal in the surrounding area, her face was pale and her eyes blazed cold, her anger apparent even from the air.

Numair alighted on the edge of the platform, ignoring the flare of the magic surrounding the bars. Cawing to attract her attention, he watched her slowly sit up, a curious expression on her face.

She crawled to the edge of the cage, wincing as she tried to put her hand between the bars to reach him and pulling it back sharply.

"How come I can't hear you, wing-brother?" she whispered.

Numair mentally shrugged, half-wondering whether she would be able to, and surprised she didn't recognise him. But then, she thought he was dead. ­Daine, he tried. It's me.

Slowly she backed away from the bars. "No," she whispered.

Numair dropped to the ground and let his natural form reclaim him, as it had been clamouring to do since he forced himself into the hawk-shape. "Daine," he said again, this time aloud.

"Oh Gods."

"I'm real sweetling, I'm real."

"But – Kaddar said you were – he said they –" She shook her head, as tears filled her eyes. The sentence was too horrible to complete.

"Magelet, I swear to the Mother Goddess that it's me. They executed my simulacrum – an extremely good one –" he added as she opened her mouth. He smiled softly at her, half in attempt to reassure her, and half at the fact he knew he had taught her so well, "– one I had been working on for months."

He could see the indecision in her eyes. She glanced over her shoulder at Kitten, and then back at him desperately, her flickering eyes asking for help. "How do I know – how do I know you're real? _You_ could be a simulacum!"

"Simula_crum_, magelet."

"If you're correcting my words, you must be real," she grumbled.

He laughed. "And whilst my simulacra might be embedded with my Gift, I doubt very much they could do what I have just done." He clasped his hand to the bars that contained her as she edged towards him. She reached out to touch him, before snatching her hand away again; Numair wasn't sure whether it was because she didn't believe it was him, or the sting of the shield on the cage. "What's happened to Kitten?"

"He spelled her – I dreamt it."

Numair nodded. "The dreamrose. Kaddar said," he explained at her quizzical look. "We can work out how to break the spell later. First things first," he told her. "I need to get you and Kitten out. I don't suppose they left you a key in there?"

She glared at him, climbing to her feet. "Very funny," she muttered.

Numair tried to smile reassuringly at her, looking round distractedly as he spoke. "Once you're out, you can help me get out of this Gods-forsaken country at last."

"What about Kaddar? Ozorne will surely arrest him after this! We can't leave him here, Numair."

"Magelet, at the moment my prime concern is to get _you_ safely away from here. Kaddar is a mage in his own right, with many allies behind him. I'm sure he's quite capable of looking after himself until he and the Gods can find a way to dispose of his uncle."

"I think _I_ was supposed to be the Gods' way," Daine muttered through the bars as his Gift flared through his body and he began the process of testing the cage.

He ignored her as his magic spread into every corner of the cage, surrounding her completely. He sensed rather than saw Daine sink to the ground next to Kitten. This would be hard for her; cages were not one of her fondest forms of accommodation. "Not long now, magelet. We'll be out of here soon, I promise," he murmured to her. His Gift filtered through the metal bars, systematically searching for a flaw in Ozorne's working. This was most unlike his former friend; the spell was completely Ozorne's – no one else had aided him in building the cage.

There were only several methods to break the spell in that case. Killing Ozorne was not an option: the emperor was nowhere in sight, and Kaddar was likely to be more willing to seek a diplomatic abdication from his uncle.

There was one thing for it. Numair would have to break the spell completely, although it was possibly the most inelegant option of them all. Pouring his entire Gift into the metal surrounding his student, he forced his magic through the spell, seeping through it to search for the weak points in the spell. Focusing on the cage, he _pushed_ with his magic, exploiting the flaws and overriding them with his Gift, the bars disappearing with a sudden _snap_. His Gift pooled on the ground and then streamed comfortably back into his body.

Clambering up onto the platform, he breathed a sigh as he sat down next to the quivering Daine, taking a tailor's seat next to his student. "You all right, magelet?"

"Mmm," she nodded. He reached over to pat her knee, but she shied away from him slightly and towards the sleeping Kitten.

He reached out a hand to her, his upturned palm waiting. She hesitated for a moment, and then tentatively placed her hand in his.

Numair laughed out loud and swept her into his arms, holding her tightly as she sobbed softly in his arms. "Sweet," he murmured to her, "it's all right now, it's all right. I'm here, you're safe now. Oh, sweetling." He knew, if she'd been quite feeling herself, she would have hotly disputed that fact, but for the moment he was relieved to have his arms wrapped around her and hers round him. After she had calmed down, he released her, and handed her a handkerchief from his belt purse, retrieving one for himself to wipe the sweat from his face.

"Always concerned for your own vanity," she muttered.

"I'm to take it you're feeling better then?" he enquired lightly.

"Glad it's gone. I thought my head was going to pop with that spell you did. What was it?"

"I had to force his magic out of it. Not so hard when you have a superior Gift," he stretched.

"You're as bad as him when it comes to your ego. Are all mages like that?"

Numair yelped. "I resent that comment, Veralidaine Sarrasri. I am nowhere _near_ the stage of his most Imperial Majesty's level of egotism. Now, magelet, I'm sure that Ozorne knows I've just broken his spell, and as nice as it would be to remain here for the remainder of the evening with you, we'd be finishing the day accompanied by the Imperial Guard. Seeing as I've just got you out of here, I'd prefer not to do it again. Any suggestions?"

Daine was silent for a moment as she contemplated their escape. Finally she sighed. "Animal or extinct skeletons?"

"Can you communicate with them?"

"No, not really, but I can use the animals to bring them to us. Or –" she broke off.

"Or?" Numair queried.

"Well, we _could_, but it depends how much of your Gift you have left… We could – shapeshift," she finished slowly.

Numair thought, testing whether his Gift was capable of another change after the evening's activities. "If we fly to the Zekoi, I can replenish my magic in the water there. From there, it's not a long flight to Thak's Gate, maybe an hour at most, and we can meet the ship beyond. I can manage," he assured her.

"You're sure?" Daine checked. "I don't want you falling out of the sky or killing yourself."

"I'll manage," he repeated.

"And Kitten?" she asked, holding the sleeping dragon's form protectively to her chest.

Numair pulled his cloak from his shoulders. "We'll make a sling from this. Do you think you can carry her?"

"She's light enough."

Numair nodded, and bundled his cloak towards her. Quickly she folded the material, placing Kitten in the middle and knotting it so the dragonet would not be able to fall. Knowing that he couldn't spare much more of his Gift, he sealed the cloak with a spell and passed it back to Daine as she tested the weight in her hands.

Suddenly her head snapped up. "The bats say Ozorne's just left the Palace, and if he's going for an evening stroll, then I'm a Stormwing," she blurted out quickly.

In the space of a breath Numair had lost his human form, returning to the hawk-shape he favoured when he transformed. He cried out, testing his vocal chords in their new forms as much as urging Daine to hurry her change. Within seconds she had shrunk and was by his side, having chosen the form of a sparrow hawk for speed.

Experimentally Numair took off and circled the remains of the cage which had formally imprisoned Daine. His short flight had been ungraceful and inelegant, merely a means of finding Daine as quickly as possible. Now they would need to travel a long distance, and Numair needed to know he could manage that before he considered it. His wings flapped frantically at first before he gained the rhythm he needed. Finally, feeling ready, he called to Daine, who had been sitting on the ground watching his fumbling efforts.

Adjusting her claws around her bundle, she took off effortlessly and flew round him in a fast circle before flying up into the air quickly, the cloak held safely in her talons. _Show off_, he grumbled to himself. Finding a suitable air thermal, he glided up until he reached her height, pumping his wings to keep up with the faster bird. Daine glanced back at him, and then dropped back so they flew together.

Looking down, Numair could see most of the Imperial Palace, the creatures Daine had awoken still wreaking their own unique form of havoc. The released animals of the menagerie were hampering the efforts of the Imperial Guard to regain control, and he could see hyenas closing in on Ozorne and his ring of protection. He could only hope, for Daine's sake, that none of the animals were hurt by their activities tonight.

A strangled noise came from Daine to his right, and he looked round anxiously, hoping she was not distressed by the activities below her. She emitted another cry, and then dropped fifty metres in height so she could view the events below her in more detail. Numair, trying to ignore the jolt in his stomach as he declined quickly, swooped down to join her. He wished he had some way of warning her to stay out of sight; the birds they were in the form of weren't native to Carthak – even if they had been, Daine was carrying Kitten – and if he saw them, Ozorne would know them for who they were immediately, and no doubt he and his mages would try to blast them out of the sky, with Numair powerless to defend them. He didn't think he could sustain a shield around them whilst also keeping his body forced into a foreign form.

Uttering a cry, he tried to grab her attention and pull them away from the ground and up, but all he succeeded in doing was attracting the notice of the people on the ground below them. With a silent curse, he realised who they were.

Ozorne was surrounded by a squad of the Imperial Guard. Screaming in rage, he launched a ball of emerald green fire at them. Numair dropped quickly to avoid the blast of power, as Daine shot upwards through the air.

Cursing himself for drawing attention to them, and Ozorne for not giving him time to practice his rusty flight skills, Numair sped quickly onwards and away, trying to watch over his shoulder for Ozorne's lethal fire balls and for the spears now being thrown by the soldiers on the ground.

Daine swooped down to the same height as him, spiralling gracefully down, her bundle trailing behind her. Numair could hear Ozorne's demands for their capture, and felt the rush of hot air as an emerald ball shot past him.

_To the river,_ he thought. _If we just make it to the river we'll be safe_. The river was his safe haven for the moment, even though it would not be a safe enough distance away from Ozorne. It would at least put the palace walls between them.

Suddenly Daine shot past him, trailed by a flame of green fire. Distracted for a moment, remembering a horrible thought, Numair didn't see the flame that trailed him too. Feeling an agonizing pain in his left leg, he hurtled to the ground. He could just see the river; all he had to do was make it to the river...


	3. Chapter 2: The River Zekoi

**Thank you to all my reviewers! The next chapter is essentially in two parts: in other words, it's very long (10 solid pages), so I split it in two to make it easier on you! If it ends a bit abruptly, that's why. It's also a bit… unpleasant. I've also taken slight liberties with Stormwing magic... Also, if the formatting is funny, it's because is playing up, and nothing to do with me! Hopefully it'll work though!**

**Usual Disclaimers!**

**Chapter 2**

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Hearing her teacher's agonized scream, Daine instantly feared the worst. She had reached the far bank of the Zekoi; lowering herself, she deposited Kitten gently on its shores. Then, shooting into the air, she doubled back for Numair, cursing herself for leaving him behind when she knew his ability to fly was rarely tested. She could see the oversized black hawk now, diving perilously into the river. Pumping her wings so she would reach him in time, she dove in, her form changing seamlessly to that of her own human body. The hawk landed with a loud splash metres ahead of her, and she swam frantically in a race to save him before the panicking bird sank, or the crocodiles, ignoring her pleas, reached him. 

Bearing down on the ancient animals with all of her will, ignoring their cries of pain, she grabbed Numair's body and pulled him to her. The bird flapped mindlessly in her arms, wings flailing wildly as one of his feet slashed, cutting her breasts and arms.

Daine, though, had handled many a terrified bird in her time, and whispered words of reassurance to Numair whilst she pulled his wings into his body before he did himself more harm. Turning the oversized hawk onto his back, she saw immediately the problem: Numair's left leg and foot had been severely burnt by Ozorne's balls of power. Ignoring the growing surge of anger in her stomach, and the fear that threatened to make her dizzy, Daine fought to remember all she knew on the treatment of burns.

She knew one thing for certain. She could not treat Numair in his current form; she might have been more adept at treating animals, but the longer he stayed in a bird's form, the more of his Gift he would use and the harder it would be for him to change back. He'd almost died before of this, and only with Alanna's help had she been able to call him back to his true form.

"Numair," she began as the bird thrashed anxiously in her arms. "Numair, I need you to calm down. Please, I need you to calm. I've got you, you're safe from Ozorne here –" Daine mentally excused the outright lie. She knew it could not be long until Ozorne found them, despite the growing darkness, "- you're safe, Numair, safe. We'll get you out of here as soon as we can, all right?" When the bird had reduced to trembling in her arms, Daine hugged him to her, ignoring the stinging cuts on her chest and that she was naked in the middle of a river, mindful only of his left leg. "Good, that's good Numair. I need you to do something for me." She caught the hawk's eye and held it. "Numair, I need you to change back so I can treat you. Can you do that for me?" The bird merely quivered more in her arms, but Daine could see the thin layer of a shadowed Gift around his body. Slowly the Gift pulsed and grew until it flared, and she could feel the man changing in her arms, thankfully still clothed. Sighing a breath of relief as slowly bones changed and shifted, feathers returned to hair, she looked into his face to see a dazed Numair. His eyes glazed as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

"Numair," she murmured. "Numair?"

"Daine," he coughed.

"I've got you, we'll be all right now," she whispered, blinking back sudden sharp tears.

"I know, magelet." With that, his eyes fluttered shut and Daine whimpered slightly. She was treading water in the middle of the Zekoi River, with the Emperor of Carthak on her tail, and half his army along with him, and Numair looked as if he was dying. She had only just got him back…

She wanted to howl her frustration; she wanted to scream and shout – this was so much more real than when Kaddar had told her Numair had been executed, because this she was seeing. She was holding him in her arms while it happened. She wanted to tear Ozorne to pieces for this.

_No_. She couldn't stop now; couldn't give in. Numair trusted her to help him, and whining in the middle of a river wasn't going to do him any good. She needed to tend his leg before she tried to move him any further. Looping her arm round his torso, she struck out for shore, dragging the unconscious mage behind her. Laying him in the shallows behind a bank of reeds, she began to treat his wound, grasping desperately to the facts she had been taught. Silently she ripped open Numair's cloak, apologising to the unconscious man as she did so, freeing Kitten from her sling as she considered her next step, and wrapping the fabric loosely around her.

Taking the knife from his belt, she began to cut away the breeches from around his wound, shearing them off around his thigh and gently peeling them away. She winced where the material clung to him; he moaned in his sleep as she tried to ease it away. Deciding there was nothing she could do, she cut around those sections, not wanting to cause further damage.

His leg was blistering already, and parts were mottled red and white. Daine submerged his leg in the waters of the river, wishing to the Gods that she had a clean water source to use. She hated to think what could be entering his body from the muddy water, but she knew she needed to keep his wound cool. Cutting his tunic from him, she dipped it in the water before shredding it for a bandage. She gently wrapped it around his leg, securing it tightly while she considered her next step.

She wanted to get to the Tortallan vessel as quickly as possible, but transporting a dragon _and_ a man who was vastly taller than her would not be easy, let alone when she began to take his condition into consideration. He needed to be tended to by a proper healer, and soon.

Somehow, she would have to transform and carry Numair and Kitten with her. Flying was the quickest method, but she could not think of a single bird that would be able to bear Numair's added weight. The other solution was an animal that he could ride of some kind, one that she could secure him to somehow, without damaging his leg. Camels were the first native animals that came to mind, but they had little means of defending themselves against a force of Imperial guards. She could use the weight, tusks and trunk of an elephant, animals that belonged further south from where they were now, but how would she get the unconscious pair on to her back? She needed something smaller. A rhinoceros was smaller, and equally impressive and intimidating when charging, or so she had been informed through books and scrolls, but they had poor eyesight and besides, how would they ride her?

A river horse, she realised suddenly. That way she could keep Numair's leg in the water, she could avoid Carthaki troops on land and –

"Does your mother let you go out like that?"

Daine swore, recognising the harsh voice immediately. She pulled her magic to the surface, claws forming as she swung to face them. "Come down here and say that Rikash Moonsword!"

The Stormwing cackled, drifting lightly down to the ground, followed by his queen, Barzha and Hebakh. Feeling vulnerable, she pulled the cloak tightly across her body. She didn't think she could face the immortals without some form of cover.

"Shy?" Rikash asked casually.

She was about to snap back at him when Barzha snapped, "Enough!" She ran her cold eye over the situation. "What happened to the mage?"

"Ozorne," Daine answered simply.

The queen dipped her head in understanding as Daine scrutinized her closely, her feathers and claws glinting in the moonlight. Finally, she gave a regal nod of her head. "You need help."

"Yes." There was no point lying to these creatures when they could see the truth plainly for themselves. She tilted her head. "Why do you offer?"

The queen shrugged simply. "You told Rikash where we were, when you had no reason to. He," she nodded in the direction of the unconscious Numair, "freed us in freeing yourselves. You brought our servant to us and gave us freedom from our enemy when our nation thought we were dead. It is I who should be asking you why."

She didn't have time for this sort of formal exchange of veiled thanks that could go on forever. "He's injured, and we need to reach our ship as soon as possible. Can you help or not?"

The queen smirked. "Such impertinence from the child of a god."

Daine bristled. She wished people would stop talking about this. Her Ma would have told her _that_, surely. Wouldn't she? She shook her head, clearing the thought. "Please?"

Barzha cackled; an unearthly sound. Daine shivered and was half-tempted to make the Sign against evil on her chest, but restrained herself, knowing it would be downright rude to insult the only people that were willing to help her. Even if they were Stormwings. "We will help you child. We head upriver to Thak's Gate."

"Our ship will have set sail already," she pointed out.

"No matter, we will reach it. Do you need assistance to travel, or only the mage?"

"Just Numair and Kitten – I can fly," she told them, checking her reserves as she did. She would manage well enough.

"Very well," Barzha nodded. "Rikash, Hebakh," she ordered. "Make a sling for the man from your magic. We will carry him like that. The dragon can ride with him." Turning back to Daine, she asked, "Can you talk as we travel?"

Daine shook her head. "I've not learned that yet."

"When the mage recovers, tell him to teach you so. It will be an important skill for you." The queen turned to supervise the creation of the sling that would carry Numair, finally adding her own magic to lift and, with surprising gentleness, Daine noticed, place the tall man in the sling, which flickered red and gold with the immortals' magic, glowing in the night. Once he was secure, Daine placed Kitten in his lap, and tucking the dragonet tightly under his arms. "Are you ready?" the queen enquired.

Daine nodded, shrinking quickly and returning to the bird form she had used to seek escape from the Imperial Palace.

"We travel fast," the queen instructed the two males. "I will place invisibility spells around us. You can travel uncovered," she told Daine. "Ozorne is looking for two birds, not one, and he will not expect you to leave your teacher. Up!"

Daine watched as slowly, laboriously at first, then with ease as they adjusted to his weight, the two Stormwings lifted Numair from the ground in his invisible sling. For a moment it was slightly disconcerting to see the man floating in the air, unconscious as he was. Daine could only pray that he would not wake mid-journey, find himself suspended in the air and without Daine, and try something foolish. Deciding the best solution was to stay as close to the man as she could, she took off, remaining either by the mage's side or flying just in front of him so she could ensure that he would be able to see her if he woke. She was determined to avoid further harm coming to him.

At some points in their journey, Daine could almost see the appeal of living in a country such as Carthak. If she ignored her current situation, and forgot the Emperor and his method of rule, she could see the population of the country moving around their lives in villages and towns; some even fishing in the river. Many of the curious members of the People that the land contained clamoured to meet her as she flew over, to aid her in her plight; she had to encourage them to continue as normal so as to avoid suspicion. Ozorne would be looking for just such signs. However, at other places they passed as they progressed, remembering the Emperor was unavoidable. The military camp which had appeared so vast when they had sailed past it, revealed its true size from the air, stretching back for miles; its progress lit by glittering torches and mage globes. Even from her current height, Daine could see the havoc that her friends amongst the People had created that night. Tents had collapsed where guy ropes had been chewed, equipment that was unmovable because ropes had been sabotaged, wagons that had been kicked and upended by the very animals who pulled them, and a large fire blazed. Food and water had been soiled; weapons hidden. Her friends could not have done a more comprehensive job if she had led them herself. Silently she thanked each and every one of them as they passed overhead, observing the chaos that reigned down-below.

"Your work?" Hebakh enquired drily.

Rikash laughed. "I told you she was a smart one. She wrought havoc in Dunlath. Not one to get on the wrong side of."

"We'll discuss it later, Rikash," the queen told her vassal sharply. "Nonetheless, I am impressed." She eyed the bird over her shoulder. "You have given us much to consider, Veralidaine."

Daine wasn't sure how her monarchs and the commanders of the Tortallan armies would consider an alliance with Stormwings; immortals that had been their enemies since they had first reappeared in the Mortal Realms a few years previously. But then, she thought to herself, rolling to drop below the wave of stench from Barzha, she had allied herself with ogres, basilisks and wolves before; Daine would half-expect them not to blink an eye at her companions. After all, she _did_ have the care of a dragonet.

Even though she knew her odd companions were invisible to the humans below them, Daine could not stop herself from tensing as they flew over the lighthouse at the Great Harbour of Thak's Gate, its light sweeping across the sky. She couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the great bronze statue that had appeared to the peace delegates just a few days before, although, in some ways, Daine thought she was better not knowing. So much had happened already that Daine thought she had had her fill of strange magic and information to last her till the end of her days.

The abundance of masts below her creaked softly in the wind, but Daine knew the Tortallan ship would not be here. It had set sail at least a day previously, she estimated, and would be well into the Inland Sea before they found it. The sinister sight of the waiting Carthaki navy only served to speed her on her way, wishing that she could urge the Stormwings along with her voice as well as with her wings. She knew that the immortals understood their need for urgency, but still she felt that, made of steel as they were, speed was not in their nature.

Eventually, much to her relief, she saw the glow of ship lights in the dark ocean, and finally the blue and silver of the Tortallan sails before her. Hoping that her rescuers would understand her frantic signalling, she swooped down to the ship before them. If they appeared now, the likelihood was that the Tortallan ship would attack, which would endanger both Numair and the tentative newfound alliance between Stormwing and human. Sending a mind image to the mice and cats aboard ship, she searched the ship for Alanna as she tumbled through the open port-hole of her cabin and dressed furiously. Someone, most likely the Lioness, had left it open for her in anticipation of her return.

Rushing through the corridors, she stopped outside the room that had a guard placed on the door and tell-tale signs of purple Gift filling the gap between door and wall. The guard started at the sight of her.

"Lady Daine! How did you –"

"Get Lady Alanna above deck _now_," she ordered. "It's urgent."

The guard shook his head. "She's in a meeting, I can't interrupt. You'll have to wait."

Daine sighed. She would not leave Numair unconscious in the air held up by the magic of Stormwings who were there only as long as they wanted to be. "Interrupt. This is an emergency, and Master Numair Salmalín is in need of her assistance." She smiled triumphantly when the man paled at the name of the famous mage and turned to bang on the door. It wasn't really fair, she thought – both mages had a temper; the Lioness' more legendary than Numair's, although his was a name known and feared alike, and people were unwilling to displease someone with so much power. That was the problem with having a reputation like Numair's or Alanna's; it always preceded them.

She ran above deck, signalling frantically for the Stormwings to make themselves visible and land even as she shouted orders to the ship to lower its defences. Somebody screamed as first Barzha, then Rikash and Hebakh, their shared bundle between them, appeared above the ship.

"_Disarm_ yourselves!" she cried again as they lowered Numair and Kitten onto the deck. "They're friends!" She dropped to her knees beside him as the three immortals perched nervously on the rail, eyed suspiciously by several of the crew.

Alanna burst onto the deck, followed by Gareth the Younger; both knights held bared swords. Daine turned up and to her feet in one swift movement.

"Daine!" the Lioness exclaimed. "How did you – where's Numair?" She ran to her, and then spotted the man beside her. "Oh Gods – what happened?"


	4. Chapter 3: Small Comforts

**Remeber when I put that warning on the Prologue? Well, take my word for it, that applies in full force here. I've just entirely reworked the end (I think I chopped about a page, lol!) which is why it's taken slightly longer than I wanted to get it up. Thank you again to my reviewers!**

**Neither the characters, nor the countries that appear here are my creation. Apart from Fahim. And I might have pinched his first name from somewhere in TP's work...**

**Chapter 3**

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"Stormwings?" Gareth asked incredulously. 

"They're friends – they helped us," Daine explained quickly.

Alanna dropped to her knees next to the unconscious man as the girl took a seat opposite her, explaining first Numair's injury, then their journey, all the while clutching tightly to his hand with one of hers as she stroked Kitten with the other. Alanna gently unwrapped Daine's makeshift bandages as the girl talked, hissing in sympathy when she saw his mottled skin. "It's bad," she said quietly. She called up several of the deckhands, and had two carry the unconscious mage below deck in a stretcher, and another fetch her healing bag.

Before Daine could follow them below deck, a strong hand grabbed her shoulder. She turned to face Gareth the Younger. "Daine, you'll have to do more explaining than that." He gestured at the Stormwings, who were perched on the deck rail.

Daine tensed, biting back a terse answer; as much as she liked the Prime Minister, she wanted nothing more at that moment than to be below deck with Numair. "We helped them, they helped us. What more is there to say?"

"Will they ally themselves with us?"

Daine shook her head. "I don't know – you'd have to ask them. They were talking about it though. They certainly aren't friends with Ozorne."

The Prime Minister rubbed his beard in thought, and then called a deckhand over. "Fetch my father and Lord Martin. We have much to discuss."

"Can I?" Daine gestured at the hatch that led below deck.

"Go." He pushed her gently in the direction of the door. "They'll look after him."

She nodded mutely as numbly she made her way to the healer's cabin, clutching the sleeping Kitten to her as she went. She wasn't entirely sure she understood the happenings so far in her own mind, let alone enough to explain them to anyone else.

Things were moving at such pace in the small room, Daine was unable to follow events until the ship's main healer, Fahim ibn Nahria, sat her down and checked her for injury. "No!" She wriggled out of his grasp and cradled Kitten to her chest tightly. "I'm not the one who needs treatment – it's him. I'm fine, look after him."

Fahim shook his head. "And have you fall on us while we do so? I think not, Mistress Sarrasri."

"Please, I'm fine, I promise you. Numair needs you far more than I do, so please, just help him."

He assessed her face silently before he handed her a jar of salve and some fresh bandages. "Treat yourself for now then. Clean them well, then use the cream. Tight bandages. If you need help, send for Lady Alanna. We'll treat Master Salmalín while you are gone." Daine nodded and hurried out of the room to the cabin she had occupied on the journey to Carthak, dismissing the gloating boss rat immediately. She was in no mood for his quips as she cleaned her cuts – they were deeper than she'd thought, and Alanna would need to look at them at some point, but for now her own care would do. Within minutes she had returned to the healer's cabin, leaving the slumbering dragon on her cot.

Alanna glanced up from examining Numair's leg. "Daine," she said distractedly. "You shouldn't be here."

Daine shook her head and pushed through the door.

"It won't be pleasant."

"I know," Daine nodded. She moved to the head of the pallet Numair was lying on, sitting next to his head as Fahim pressed his fingers to Numair's temples.

"Come on Master Salmalín," he called. "You need to wake up." Glancing up at Daine, he added, "We need to know how much he can feel, and keep him as aware as possible of what's happening around him and to him. Master Salmalín," he called again.

"Won't it hurt him?" Daine worried.

"It's something we have to do, Daine," Alanna answered. "We'll keep it as painless as we can for him. Try calling him."

Daine took Numair's hand in hers, gripping it tightly. It was clammy, his face pale and sweating. "Numair," she murmured, squeezing it. "Numair, you have to wake up now. I'm with you; you're safe, just like I said you would be."

His hand twitched in hers. "Numair," she called. "Come on, Numair, we're with Alanna on the boat. We're going home, and you've got to wake up."

"He's coming round," Fahim muttered.

Daine allowed herself a small smile. "Come on Numair. You promised me a lesson on Carthaki desert life before we left, and I'm holding you to it." Alanna smiled even as she examined Numair's foot. "There's learning to be done and books to be read and I can't do it without you. Please, Numair."

Again his hand moved and Daine leapt to her feet. "Come on, Numair," she urged as Alanna moved to stand by her, bending over the mage.

"Daine's right, Numair, it's time to get up." She pulled back one of his eyelids and studied his pupil. Numair flinched and tried to move his head away. "Good," Alanna told him, "Wake up now, Numair." Fahim moved down to his leg as Alanna took Daine's seat, her violet hand on his forehead as her Gift flowed into him.

Numair mumbled something, and Alanna bent down to hear him better. "No, she's fine. You're both safe, Numair, I promise you. We need to treat your leg now. Daine's going to talk to you." Alanna gave her a grim smile as she moved down to the bottom of the bed next to Fahim. "Keep talking to him, about anything you can think of. Just keep him distracted."

Daine nodded. "Hello, Numair," she whispered, sitting down next to him.

He smiled vaguely. "I heard you. You were calling me. Just like last time," he added.

She smiled softly. "Almost. Keep getting into trouble without me, don't you? Alanna and Fahim will see you right though. Can you remember what happened?"

"I was trying to save you," he murmured.

"You did that Numair, you did that very well." She stroked the hair from his clammy forehead, and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. "Numair, stay awake."

"I can't stop shaking," he whispered to her confidentially. It was true; the mage's body trembled violently, and his hair stuck to his forehead and neck with cold sweat.

She ran her hand over his forehead, smoothing as much of his damp hair away from his face as she could. "It's all right Numair. You're all right now." She recognised the signs of shock when she saw them, watching his eyes go in and out of focus on her face. He needed anchoring to the Mortal Realms, reassurance and chatter, so she clung to his hand and murmured to him, stories she had been told when she was growing up, talk of the People, of their friends, even Palace gossip, anything to attach him to the world of the living. The Black God would not be having Numair without a fight, and she would be the one to provide it.

She thought desperately of a way to keep him awake. "Numair, I'm fair confused about something. Can you help?"

He murmured his assent, his eyes still half shut. Glancing at Alanna, she saw the redhead with her head bent down over Numair's leg, whispering with Fahim. "Listen to me, Numair." He tilted his head towards her, his eyes straining to focus on her. "The Dominion Jewel – I know how she got the Jewel, but why did Miache have to steal it from Galla?"

"Daine – I'm too tired for this," he mumbled.

"Please Numair, tell me," she wheedled.

"Do you know who – Miache stole it – from?" he asked.

"She stole it from King Giamo's heir – his great-great grandson I think."

Numair nodded, his light voice strained, a harsh whisper. "Remember what Giamo did? He was a tyrannical ruler – he conquered land – the land that you're from – Scanran first –" he moaned and Daine glanced at Alanna and Fahim.

"Sorry," the Lioness muttered.

Numair coughed before continuing. "He treated his people badly – plague, famine, war – the Gods kept – displeased…" his faltering voice faded.

"Keep him talking Daine," she heard Alanna's voice order.

She nodded, fighting back a surge of fear as his eyes closed and his breath hitched. "So why did they steal it Numair?" She squeezed his hand and smoothed his hair back. His hand shifted slightly in hers as he tried to free it from her grasp, tossing his head in pain.

"Because – 'cause…" he struggled. Suddenly he cried out and his whole body bucked.

Alanna swore. "Fahim, hold him down. Numair, you need to keep still. This is going to be painful, and we'll try to make it as quick as possible for you."

Numair grunted. Daine sat on the pallet beside him and leant forward, holding his body down as gently but as strongly as she could, her forearm braced across his chest. He glanced at her through his lowered eyelashes before staring at the ceiling. "Tell me why you think," he murmured.

Daine forced a smile. It hurt her to see him like this. "His nobles didn't like the way he was ruling them."

"What else?" he murmured.

"Greed?" she asked, half joking.

He smiled weakly, a small laugh shaking his body. "So sceptical already, magelet? Not everyone – is motivated by money, but – some were. You know more."

Sometimes she thought nothing could stop him from academic learning. "They didn't like the way he was treating his subjects?"

"Good. Some nobles do – care about – people." His brow creased in a frown, and he could not keep a pained sigh from escaping his lips.

Daine heard Fahim mutter something to Alanna, and he appeared on Numair's other side. "Here," he said, his face concerned. He placed a leather strap in Numair's mouth. "Bite down on this when it gets painful. It won't be for much longer." His eyes met Daine's for a second, and Daine knew there was much worse to come.

Looking back down at Numair, she smiled reassuringly. "See Numair, not much longer now." The look in his eyes told her he knew otherwise. Maybe it was the expression on her face that had given it away, she thought desperately. She tried to school her face and hide her emotions. It was hard for her to hide things from this man, not when she had been with him for so long and shared so much. She had gotten so used to telling him almost everything - there were some things a teenage girl should keep to herself – it was hard to shield him now, especially when it was something concerning him. She stroked his hair back and tried to smile again. "We'll be all right, Numair, I promise. We'll be all right." His hand clenched tightly in hers, and his teeth bit down on the strap. To try and distract them both, she told him a story her Grandda had told her when she had had nightmares, trying him to comfort him with a story of hope to fight through his pain. Frequently he called out in anguish, his teeth clenched firmly on the leather strap, a shattered look in his eyes that Daine could barely stand to see. After Numair had cried out and strained against Daine and Fahim once more, Daine turned to Alanna, trying to hide the fear in her voice. "Is there nothing you can do? You can't put him to sleep?"

Alanna shook her head. "For this all I can do is try and ease his pain. We're still trying to clean the worst of it and find any infection in his blood system. Ozorne's spell might have had something nasty in it that lingers, so we need to look for traces of his Gift. I can't put him to sleep for this because we don't want any more magic in his blood stream. Later we'll help him sleep." Daine tried not to look at her hands, covered in blood – Numair's blood, she remembered suddenly – or the sweat on both Alanna and Fahim's face. This must be a hard healing.

She turned back to Numair, trying to blink back the tears in her eyes. Numair smiled vaguely at her and tried to speak through the gag, his soft voice distorted. He lifted it from his mouth with his free hand. "Daine, if they're doing their best, then I'm in safe hands." There was an affirmative grunt from Alanna, and he forced a smile again. "See?" he asked softly. His face contorted in pain once again and a gasp of pain escaped him, and this time Daine could not blink her tears back fast enough, one spilling over. _This isn't helping him_, she told herself furiously. She forced a smile for him. "Don't cry magelet." He pulled his hand from hers and lifted it to her face, smoothing away her tear. "I'll be all right," he said, his voice so quiet she had to bend forward to hear him properly. "I believe you, remember? I'll be fine, sweetling. Tell me the rest of your story."

She nodded, clearing her throat before continuing with her tale. The story had always calmed Daine when she was a girl, telling her that evil was always stopped and kindnesses rewarded. Today's events were a stark reminder that that wasn't always the way, but she hoped it would make Numair feel like it did her, although she doubted that tales such as that would work on a man who would soon be turning thirty. As she spoke, she smoothed his hair from his face, all the while his hand remaining on her cheek, his other fist clenched tightly in the sheets. His eyes glazed in and out of focus, and he tried to suppress his groans, but Daine could see he was still in pain.

Finally Alanna came to stand beside them, surreptitiously wiping her hands on her tunic so Numair could not see the blood that coated them. "How are you doing?" she asked Numair, as she removed the leather strap.

"Will it be much more?" he asked her, not looking at Daine, the fear apparent on his face.

Alanna shook her head. "We need you to sleep now."

"You're doing more?" he whispered.

"We need to," she soothed. "You won't be able to feel it as much."

Numair dropped his head to the side so Daine couldn't see his face, and she had to strain to hear his quiet voice. "Will I – will I lose my leg?"

"At this point Numair, I don't think so, but I can't – I can't promise you." The knight knelt down so she was on the same level as him. "I promise you Numair, I will do everything I can to avoid that, sweetheart."

"It must be bad if you're calling me 'sweetheart'," Numair murmured.

Alanna chuckled softly. "Are you ready to sleep Master Mage?"

Numair nodded and then glanced up at Daine. "I'll see you in the morning magelet."

"Of course you will," she whispered.

Alanna placed her fingers on his temples and slowly his eyelids drooped and shut, his hand dropping from Daine's face. After a moments silence, Alanna stood. "Daine, this won't be pretty. We have to remove the dead tissue on his leg."

"I'm staying." Her voice was firm, although inside she shook with fear.

"Well make yourself useful then." Alanna put her to work fetching and carrying, then finally stripping sheets for bandages as she tried not to listen to the details Fahim and Alanna were arguing over.

Finally Alanna called her from her work. "Daine, go and sit with him again. Try and keep him still if you can. Keep talking to him – I know he's asleep, but if he can hear you, then you can keep him reassured. And Daine," she gripped the girl's shoulder, "I meant what I said – we are doing our best for him. At the minute things are looking relatively promising, but that's ruling out further infection, fever…" Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. "We just need to see how things go."

Daine nodded. She took her place facing away from the two healers, watching Numair's face instead. She continued through the stream of stories, tales and fables she knew, and when that had run out, she talked about her life growing up, her lessons and anything that came to mind. Despite the fact that he had been knocked out, Numair still moaned and whimpered, his body flinching from the pain. All Daine could do was hold his hand and talk to him, trying to reassure and calm him. It seemed like she had been there for hours – maybe she had – when Alanna finally told her it was over. The woman's face was pale, her freckles standing out sharply on her blanched face. Fahim was sitting on a bench, his head between his knees to ward off sickness.

"Come on Daine. You'd best go back to your cabin now. You need to get sleep – Duke Gareth and Lord Martin will be wanting a word with you in the morning."

Daine nodded; she knew, but she was reluctant to leave Numair on his own. "What if he wakes in the night?"

"He's not likely to wake for at least a day, Daine. His Gift was almost used up, and even without that, the trauma of the wound means that sleep is what he needs most of all. And there will be someone with him all the time – Fahim's deputy has been kept in reserve, and several of the deckhands and guards can heal. He'll be in good hands, I promise you." Daine nodded as Alanna led her to her cabin, her arm around Daine's shoulder. Alanna pushed the door open and let Daine walk inside, closing the door behind them. Daine dropped onto the bunk, head in her hands. "You did a good job with him Daine. From what you said, you kept his leg in water, cleaned it, and found help. Most importantly you got him here. He'll be all right – it's a very bad burn, but he'll recover."

"I didn't do that well – I left him behind me. I was stupid," she sniffed.

"Daine, you're not to blame. Accidents happen. The important thing is you're away from Ozorne, for now anyway. I don't know what'll happen when we get home – there's nothing to say his agents won't be able to hurt you..." She rubbed her face. "We'll worry about that later." She hugged Daine tightly. "Sleep youngster. You want help?"

Daine shook her head. "I need to think about things first."

Alanna nodded. "Try not to dwell on it too long, Daine. I'll see you in the morning – someone will wake you if Numair comes round."

"Thanks Alanna." Daine looked at her feet, suddenly unable to meet the eyes of her old friend. "I don't know what would've happened if we hadn't got back here to you. I can't – I don't know what would happen if he died."

"You're not to think about that, Daine. He's going to be all right. For now anyway." She sighed. "Night Daine."

"Night, Alanna." She heard the door shut quietly as the older woman walked out before lifting herself off her bunk and going to the small washstand that had been filled at some point during the day. Pulling her hair back, she scrubbed her face and hands hard, trying to rid herself of the memories of the day before she climbed into her cot, curling around Kitten.

By the time that Tortall's southern coastline was sighted two days later, Numair had come round only once during their voyage, too dazed to be aware of his surroundings, and Kitten still had not awoken. When they had landed in Port Caynn the following day, Daine had almost begun to dread their return to the Palace. She would have a lot of explaining to do.


	5. Chapter 4: Explanations

**Thank you to my reviewers again – especially after such a harrowing chapter. Please, feel free to add yourself to their number!**

**I am so, so, so sorry to do this to you. At the end of the week, I leave to go to Islay (it's a lovely Scottish island – well, one of many) to pretend I can speak Gaelic for 3 weeks and buy whisky for my dad. In other words, it's part of my uni course. After that I'm being plunged straight back into uni, and as a result, I'm not entirely sure when I'll get the chance to update whilst I'm away. I'm hoping to update at least once more before I go though, and I'll try not to leave you with too much of a cliffy. Try, anyway.**

**Enter disclaimer here**

**Chapter 4**

* * *

The first thing Numair saw was a blurred image of the weary face of Duke Baird. The Duke smiled. "Master Salmalín, you're awake. How are you feeling Numair?" 

Numair groaned. "Like I've been hit by a rampaging bull. What happened?"

"Maybe you would do best to ask Daine that – what I've heard has probably been distorted by retellings."

"How long have I been out?" He tested his body for movement, sitting up suddenly. "What's happened to my leg?" he demanded, ignoring the rush of blood to his head. He pulled the covers off to reveal his leg, tightly bandaged, and reached down to touch it before Baird snatched his arm away.

"You remember nothing?" Numair shook his head. Baird sighed. "From what I can gather, you fell foul of a spell of the Emperor's. Your leg has been badly burned Numair. You have no recollection of your time on the boat?"

"Nothing. What happened?" he repeated.

"You were injured escaping the Imperial Palace. Daine managed to transport you up river and to the ship. You were conscious when you arrived, but Alanna put you to sleep whilst you were being treated. From then until now, you've woken only once, meaning you've been asleep for seven days in total."

"A week?" he exclaimed.

The Duke nodded solemnly. "A combination of the shock of the wound and the exhaustion of your Gift, we believe. It's probably been for the best – we've had to do some extensive work."

"What's the damage?" He lay back down on the bad, his body braced against bad news.

Baird sat next to him, his green eyes dull with regret. "Your leg has been extensively and seriously burned. Daine said it was blistering immediately, and the skin was very mottled. After taking immediate actions to treat you, Daine managed to transport you to the ship, where Alanna cleaned your leg extensively, and removed the dead and most damaged tissue that would not repair." The Duke paused, and sighed. "We've avoided further infection, and you successfully fought a small bout of fever, but there will be extensive scarring, Numair. You won't be able to walk unassisted for a while, but I'm confident that you will receive full use of your leg again, in time. For now, the skin that is rebuilding will be very stiff and tight. The muscle and skin needs to renew itself without magical aid. After that, you'll need to start strengthening the muscles. For the moment, the wound needs to be cleaned and your bandages changed twice daily. The recovery from this will take some time, Numair."

The mage nodded grimly. He was silent for a moment, and then he remembered something important. "Daine!" he exclaimed. "Is she all right? Nothing happened to her?"

Baird smiled. "Daine is fine. She's been more concerned about your health actually. When she's not been asleep, or with her pony, she's been sitting by your bedside, or trying to."

"What do you mean, 'trying to'?"

"Well, apart from needing to sleep, being asked a series of questions by the King and various Council Members about your exploits. There's a series of interesting rumours surrounding your trip. She's also been refusing treatment, although Alanna has had a look at her."

At those words, Numair tensed instantly, worried. "What's wrong with her?"

"Daine has a series of cuts on her chest and arms, nothing too deep, although she probably will have some scarring."

"How did she get them?"

"We don't know. They are most certainly animal cuts, but she's very reluctant to talk about how she got them."

"Animal cuts? Daine?"

"Exactly." The Duke stroked his beard. "Anyway, from what I can gather, they're healing well. According to Daine that is." He stood, smiling slightly. "You have yourself a devoted student there. Talking of whom, I did promise her I'd send a runner when you came round. And the King is most keen to talk to you."

Numair grimaced. "Tell Jon I can't remember anything. He can't talk to me about it if I can't remember anything."

"Nice reasoning," Baird laughed, "but I think he wants to speak to you about something else. I'll send those runners."

Numair groaned and dropped his head back to his pillow. His stomach was growling and all he wanted to do was sleep more. His leg was prickling in an unpleasant but not entirely painful way. He clenched his eyelids shut against the feeling, hoping that when he opened them, the entire thing would prove to be one of his stranger nightmares.

* * *

He blinked, and turned his head. A mop of brown curls was bent down beside him, some of them brushing the pages of a familiar book of mammalian anatomy. "Daine," he smiled, his voice croaking from disuse. 

Her head shot up and he met her sparkling blue-grey eyes, her lips stretched into a wide grin. "Numair!" she exclaimed, and suddenly her arms were around him. He lifted his arms to accommodate her, holding her slight frame close against him. He was aware of a slight dampness on his shoulder, and he knew she was crying. He pushed her back gently, seeing her smiling face hidden beneath her mass of hair.

"How long was I asleep?"

"From before I arrived here. A few hours at least. You need it," she added when she saw the look on his face. She tried valiantly to hold back more tears but a few trickled down her cheek, and she kept a tight hold of Numair's nightshirt.

"Was it that bad?" he asked her gently.

She sniffed, pulling her hair from her face and wiping her eyes with the back of her free hand. "It was worse, for part of it."

"What happened?"

"Duke Baird said you couldn't remember much." She told him the story of their escape from Ozorne, how he received his injury, and their trip up the Zekoi to the sea, conveyed by Stormwings. If it hadn't been for her expression, Numair wasn't sure whether he would have believed her. She stopped speaking suddenly, her face pale.

"What is it, Daine?" He worried what was making her so quiet.

"I was so scared, Numair," she whispered, her face white. "I didn't know what to do, and I didn't know how to get you to Alanna. And I don't know what I would have done if I lost you."

He smiled. "Found a new teacher I expect." She gave a choked laugh, and he stroked her hair away from her face. "Daine, it's irrelevant. I'm going to be fine, so you needn't worry about it. Takes more than Ozorne can do to get rid of me. I have a stronger Gift than him, remember?"

The girl smiled. "Numair, you said just that before he did it," she pointed out.

"Well, I do."

Daine shook her head. "Mages," she muttered.

Numair studied her face. "What else is bothering you?" he asked.

"Kitten's still asleep. Harailt's been looking for a counter-spell to break Ozorne's, but he doesn't have much to go on. All we know is what I saw in my dream, and I don't understand any of it."

"You miss her," he said.

She nodded silently, not meeting his eyes, but Numair knew there was something else troubling her. "There's still more."

Daine scowled. "How do you always know?"

He smiled weakly. "Far too much time spent with you. Now, what's wrong?"

"On the boat," she began hesitantly, and then stopped.

"What about it?" Numair prompted. He could see she was reluctant to talk, but sometimes pulling these things out of Daine was better than letting her dwell on them. She tended to come to unsubstantiated conclusions if she did.

"It – I – Numair –"

"It's fine sweetling, I'm all right now. Tell me," he urged her. He untangled her hand from his shirt and gave it a small squeeze.

"It was horrible Numair. It was just horrible. You were in so much pain, and they couldn't do anything about it, and even Alanna was scared. We had to hold you down, and it was just so awful…" she broke off.

"Oh Daine," he whispered.

"And it was all my fault," she murmured.

He may not have been able to remember anything, but he knew _this_ was untrue. "Daine, it can't have been your fault. If my rescue attempt had gone better, we wouldn't have been in that mess in the first place. If we had to change shape, we had to change shape."

"Yes, but I made Ozorne notice us, and I left you behind. It's my fault," she persisted.

He shook his head. "Daine, don't talk nonsense. You are no more at fault than I am. Ozorne is to be held to blame for this, no one else, and most certainly not you. It's what he'd want, to know you were thinking like this. Understand?"

She nodded her head meekly.

"Good," he murmured, and then pulled her in close for another hug, to reassure her as much as he himself. He could feel her body flinch, and pushed her back. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" she pulled back defensively, wrapping her arms around her body.

He scrutinized her closely. "You're in pain, aren't you?" She shook her head slightly. Numair grimaced. Daine had always been a horrible liar. "Baird said you were injured. What is it?" There was something tugging on his memory, and he would be damned if he couldn't remember it.

"It's not much," she protested. "The cuts are just tugging a bit, that's all."

"I'll tell Alanna to look at you later." Daine scowled, and Numair couldn't help but smile. "And you'll sit still whilst she does it. I may be laid up, but I'm still your teacher, and you're still my student, so you'll do it." He squeezed her hand gently before releasing it and struggling to sit up on his bed, ignoring the pain in his leg when he shifted it. "Now, I believe I promised you a lesson on the animals of the Carthaki desert, so pass me that book and we'll begin."

Daine glanced worriedly at him, her gaze moving down to his leg, before she bent to pick up her textbook. He shifted up on the mattress, making more room for her to sit next to him, patting the bed beside to him.

They were halfway through a discussion on the digestive tract of a camel when there was a tap on the door, and the pair looked up. The door opened to reveal a worried looking Jonathan, followed by his Champion, George Cooper, Gareth the Younger and the Knight Commander of the King's Own. Numair blinked, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him. They surely hadn't _all_ come to wish him well and check his progress at the same time. Duke Baird shut the door behind them before coming to check Numair's pulse and temperature.

"Numair," Jon greeted him, coming to sit in Daine's vacated chair. Numair nodded a greeting, very aware that the king was not at ease as he should have been in what was ostensibly a social visit. Daine tensed on the bed next to him, her arm brushing his shoulder, and he knew she felt it too. Unwelcome news was coming their way. The king coughed, clearing his throat, and George and Alanna traded wary looks with one another. "How are you feeling?"

Numair tried a smile. "I was fine until you came in and put me on edge. What is it?"

Jon gave a wry smile that looked more of a grimace. "No hiding things from you, is there? We've had some news." Silently the king shooed sapphire balls of magic to the corner of the room, spelling it against eavesdroppers, before he glanced over his shoulder at George, who made a face at him.

"Passin' the buck, are we?" the man growled. He moved from behind Jon's chair to perch on the end of the bed, sitting next to Numair's good leg. "Since your escape, we've been keepin' a closer eye on Ozorne and his men. His men in Tortall have been makin' moves, Numair. They're movin' to Corus. We've even found one in the village near your Tower, and one in Pirate's Swoop village an' all. We think – we know –" he added after a sharp look from Alanna, "that you're their target." He glanced at Daine. "You as well, lass," he added, grimacing.

"Last night we found two men wandering through the Forest, heading for the Rider Barracks," Raoul growled. "Buri and Sarge found them when they were out checking on the ponies. We're lucky you weren't out with them, Daine, only the Mother knows what might have happened."

"That's usually mine and Onua's job," Daine whispered. Numair didn't even care to correct her grammar.

"But you were here last night," Baird put in from his place on Numair's other side. Alanna moved round to look at his bandages, clearly unhappy with the conversation.

"May I?" she gestured at his leg. Numair nodded his assent, turning his head away – he had no wish to see his mutilated leg. He tried not to wince at the pain he felt as she unwrapped his dressings, but Daine must have felt him flinch and moved slightly closer to him. He smiled slightly as he felt her strength next to him. At least she was more or less in tact from their adventures. He could see both Jon and Raoul's eyes drift towards his leg and watched as they both carefully schooled their features so as not to display anything. He glared heavily at them, but both men met his eyes, whilst the Prime Minister carefully looked elsewhere. Daine's gaze seemed to be firmly fixed upon her hands in her lap, locked tremblingly around her book, still open on its page. Numair fixed his gaze on the skeletal diagram of the camel.

"We don't know how they got so close," Raoul said quietly. "We had half of Third Company camped through there."

"You mean you were expecting him to move?" Numair couldn't hide the bite of anger in his voice.

"You slipped through Ozorne's fingers twice on that trip alone," George retorted. "We would have been more surprised if he'd done nothin'. He doesn't understand how you've escaped the Imperial wrath _three_ times now. Monarchs are like that." He glanced at Jon. "No offence, lad."

Jon grinned. "I've got used to it, knowing you as long as I have. I think my royal cousin takes his belief in Divine Power to a far more serious extent than I do. I do not believe myself beyond the reaches of the Gods, nor my subjects."

Alanna growled from her position at Numair's foot. "Would you put the pair of them out of their misery and tell them what we came here to tell them?"

Jon glanced at his Champion. "If you're so eager to tell them, you can do it. We didn't all come in here so you could prod at him."

"You're trying to deny me from healing the man?" Numair could feel Alanna's fury from the end of the bed, but her hands gently worked salve into his damaged skin.

The king sighed. "Alanna, you know perfectly well that I would never stop you from trying to heal anyone, but Duke Baird is employed for a reason."

Numair was getting tired of this. "I am here, you know. What is it you are trying to tell us?"

"And I'd like to think I was welcome here for a reason other than my Gift," Baird added. The king shot a dark glare at his chief healer who smiled slightly, his silent laughter betrayed by the deepening of the crinkles around his eyes.

"What they're trying to tell you is that we can't guarantee your safety whilst you're in the Palace," George said suddenly.

"George is right," Jon said after a moment's silence. "We can't keep track of everyone who comes and goes from the Palace, and it's geographically impossible to watch every inch of ground in the Forest."

"We need you somewhere we can watch, and where we can control who comes in and out of the building," Raoul put in. "Between George and myself, we have enough experience to make sure you are well concealed and well protected. We've already acquired a house in the Golden Wood area of the city; Daine will be going as soon as possible, and you after you've been rehabilitated more."

"Sorry," Daine interrupted. "What are you trying to say?"

The men traded glances with one another, Alanna still working on Numair's leg. She lifted his leg gently, the Duke joining her efforts by suspending Numair's leg with his Gift. Numair felt the magic wrap cold tendrils around his leg, prickling his skin. Alanna's gentle hands continued rubbing in the cooling salve to his damaged limb. The silence echoed.

"Is someone going to tell us what's going on?" Numair finally snapped.

Finally Gary sighed and relented. "Whilst you're in the Palace or at the barracks, we cannot guarantee your safety, something we are normally able to do – to an extent, anyway. We feel that, for the moment, the best solution is to place you somewhere we can protect you and watch your surroundings. Therefore, we have come to the conclusion that the best solution is to move the pair of you into a house in the city, away from the Palace, and away from your Tower, where we know Ozorne's agents are moving to. We feel that this is the best way we can ensure you will be safe. Raoul can tell you more about the security arrangements."

Raoul nodded to his old friend. "There will be at least three members of the Own in the house at all times, and a squad will be in close proximity to the house who you will be able to call upon at all times of the day and night. For safety, we will have archers and swordsmen posted in the properties surrounding the house, as lodgers and the like. It's a reasonably quiet street, so we'll be able to keep a close watch on comings and goings, who's there when they shouldn't be, you know the sort of thing. I'm sure you'll place your own wards on the building, of course."

Numair nodded. He didn't entirely like the sound of this, but it didn't seem like he was being given a choice. Daine certainly wasn't. He would see to it that she was safe. "What about food?"

Daine glanced at him, and he caught her eye. He knew she was surprised that he was accepting this sudden change to their lives so calmly, and she didn't look entirely happy. Her hands were gripping the textbook tightly, her knuckles white. He gave her a small shrug and a half smile.

George sighed, sounding resigned as he spoke. "I've a maid already lined up for you – her name's Abigail Wainwright. We know where her loyalty lies and several people have vouched for her. She'll be sent out for food, clothes, whatever you need. If you need to pass written messages on, she can give them to my people in the city. I also have a number of people working with my Lord Provost's Guard, so you're covered on all fronts, as far as we're aware. We'll update you when we find out more." George glanced at Daine and smiled reassuringly. "Relax lass. You'll be safe as the Crown Jewels in that place, and we'll have you out in a few weeks. It's just until we get rid of the threat." Numair felt Daine shiver next to him and sent a warning glance at his friend. George caught his eye and gave a discreet nod. "Here," he smiled, "you'll bend that book all out of shape if you're not careful." He leaned forward and gently pried Daine's precious book from her fingers. "Daine, we'll be wanting you to move in as soon as possible. We'd like you to go tomorrow, tonight if possible."

"On my own?" Daine checked.

"With Abigail and –" Raoul began.

"Absolutely not!" Numair butted in. "We go together or she doesn't go at all."

"Numair, we need you in a safe place as soon as possible. We're taking a risk as it is, leaving you out here for longer than Daine." Raoul was firm but Numair shook his head.

"She's not going on her own." Numair was adamant, his voice firm, but he couldn't hide his body's shaking. Daine didn't turn to him, but he felt her tense at his side and Alanna shot him a suspicious look.

"Numair, I'm sure I'll be fine," Daine started, but Numair shook his head again.

"If you're so desperate for her to go into hiding without me, then why didn't you send her away earlier?"

"It's not a matter of sending anyone away, Numair; it's a matter of protecting them." Jon sighed. "We didn't ask Daine to leave earlier because we didn't think she'd go until you'd woken and we could reassure her of your safety. Now we have no choice. That Ozorne's agents got so close constitutes a severe breech of security, and I will not put the safety of my subjects into jeopardy needlessly. Daine goes."

"Daine is my student and as such it is my duty as her teacher to ensure her safety at all times. How can I do that if I don't even know where she is? How can I do that if she is alone? What will a group of men, no matter how well trained," he nodded at Raoul, "be able to do if a strong mage attacks the house? Surely I will be the best one available to withstand such an assailant?"

"You are both my subjects, and as such you will follow your orders," Jon said in a low, dangerous, voice. "If this is what is best for your safety, then you will do it. You will leave the Palace and you will go into hiding, and I will not hear a word of objection from you. I will not have my chief mage and one of my most unusually talented mages put in unnecessary danger. Tortall is facing enough problems as it is without adding to her burdens with the loss of two of her key protectors."

He sighed, dropping his head to his hands, running his fingers through his hair before meeting Numair's eyes again. "We're looking at war, Numair. Our diplomats in all the countries of the North are working within their Courts to convince my fellow rulers that it is not our fault that the peace talks collapsed. Your story is helping slightly, although we have not told of your injury, but the problem is getting my fellow rulers to believe what we are telling them. For all they know, we have set up a ruse just effectively as Ozorne claimed.

"I doubt the war will come until the spring – it is too treacherous to rely on the weather at this time of year and even Ozorne, with his expendable army, will not waste manpower and supplies by trying to invade us over the winter months. I need you both to be fully recovered by then, and if it is a matter of keeping you safe then I will stretch to all events. We _all_ feel this to be the best possible course of action. Please, do as we ask. Daine will be far safer than she is now, and you will be joining her shortly. We're doing the best we can, Numair, and this is the only viable option."

"Maybe," Duke Baird's voice came, "the best person to ask when consulting on the issue of Daine's future safety is Daine herself." He glanced up when his suggestion was met by silence. "In my opinion."

Alanna nodded. "What do you want, Daine?"

Daine glanced at Numair before facing Jon. "I'd rather I was with Numair. We look after each other well."

Numair smiled triumphantly. "Well that's settled then. We'll both remain in the Palace until –"

He was cut off by Alanna. "There is another option," the Lioness began. She met Jonathan's look squarely. "I'm sure you'll approve Jon. Both Daine and Numair could go now. As far as Numair's rehabilitation is concerned, a healer – a strong one – could go with him."

Jon nodded, clearly thinking Alanna's proposal through. "And who do you suggest as the healer?"

"Me." Alanna's voice was firm.

"No," Jon began. "Your duty is here. I need you at my side in times of war and danger to the throne. This is one of those times, Alanna."

"Jon, if you place me with them, I can heal Numair and protect them magically until Numair is capable enough on his own. Who is better placed to protect _and_ to heal?"

There was a tense silence as Alanna bound up Numair's leg, the bandages uncomfortably tight. Eventually Jon sighed. "Fine," he relented. "But for a day and no more. I know it's not as much time as you'd like," he added quickly, before Alanna could interrupt, "but it's all we have." He turned to Numair and Daine. "You leave now. We'll have a litter prepared for you, Numair. Daine, do you think you could fly?" She nodded. "Very well. Ready a pack and leave it in your room. We'll collect it. Numair, give George a list of the things you'll need. You leave at the next bell."

"What about Kitten?"

"As long as she's asleep, she can stay. After we've found a way to break Ozorne's spell though, she has to leave, I'm sorry Daine." Jon's voice was gentle but he was stern all the same. "We can't afford for you to attract attention, and having a young dragon with you will do just that. She'll be a beacon for Ozorne's agents."

"I can't leave her!" Daine's voice was tense. "She's only young. She needs me! Who'll teach her?"

The King reached out and took her hand, gently holding it in his and leaning forwards. Numair scowled. Didn't the man know she was sweet on him? Getting her all breathless wasn't going to calm her down. "Daine, I know it's hard, but she can't stay. It's just too impractical and too obvious. You know better than most that you couldn't keep Kitten locked up in a house for weeks. She'd tear the place down, if she didn't escape. You can't keep her with you, I'm sorry. Tkaa has offered to teach her, and I don't think we could find a better teacher for her in your absence."

"What about Cloud?" Daine's voice was soft, trembling even. Numair knew this would be hard for her. She'd be leaving two of her most faithful friends behind; Cloud the animal who was as good as her family, and Kitten who she'd raised from birth.

"She's too easily identified, lass," George put in. "Ozorne will know she's yours. We can't risk it. There's nowhere for her to graze either. It wouldn't be fair on her to keep her cooped up like that." Numair wondered if George recognised the irony in his own words. Daine was practically half-People. It wouldn't be fair to keep _her_ cooped up either. The spymaster moved in to stand beside her, taking her hand from Jon's and enveloping it in his own large ones. "I know how tough this must be for you."

"I'll be on my own," she whispered.

"Not quite, Daine," Numair murmured gently. "I'll be with you too. You'll still have me, magelet."

She nodded, and Numair pulled her into a quick, one-armed hug. "We'll be all right, Daine. It'll be over in no time." He released her. "Go and pack, Daine. We have to leave quickly."

They waited until Daine had left the room before anyone spoke again. It was Alanna who broke the silence. "Well I hope you're proud of yourself, Jon," she snapped. "You're taking the poor girl away from the only family she knows, and almost all of her friends too!"

"Well at least she'll be alive for us to keep her safe!" the King retorted.


	6. Chapter 5: Golden Wood

**If you're very lucky, I might give you an update tomorrow night before I disappear off to Islay. (It's funny how your luck corresponds to the amount of reviews I get… strange. Very strange. Nothing at all to do with the fact I haven't packed yet.)**

**The characters you don't recognise are mine. Those that you do simply aren't.**

**Chapter 5**

* * *

When Daine returned to Numair's room in the Healer's Quarters, her bags packed, she found the room tenser than when she had left it. The King, the Prime Minister and Raoul had left, and Alanna seemed to be in some sort of dispute with the men in the room. 

"You are tired enough as it is, my dear. Sit down, Alanna, you need to rest." Baird's face was kind as he propelled Alanna towards a seat. George stared at his wife across the room, arms folded across his chest.

"The Duke's right, Alanna. Jon's got you workin' hard as it is. The last thing you need is to be taking on more work."

Numair pushed himself up in bed. "Alanna, I'm sure I'll cope well enough without you. George is right. You shouldn't be worrying about my health when there's so much more at stake."

"But –" Alanna began.

"Honestly, Alanna, we'll be fine." His reassurances didn't seem to be working, and Numair glanced at Daine as she looked between them curiously. "If you have to, teach Daine how to look after my leg for me. I'll be in capable hands then."

Daine shot a glare at him which he blatantly ignored as she felt her stomach twist. It was one thing for her to have to tend him in an emergency, when she had no choice, but now? She had no real training in healing; only basic first aid. Would that be enough?

She looked up to find Alanna looking at her expectantly. "Of course," she smiled, sounding considerably braver than she felt. "We can manage." She glanced at Numair, who had the strangest look on his face. "Are you all right, Numair?"

"What? Oh, yes."

She nodded, taking a seat beside the bed. "You can teach me today, Alanna. Then you'll be fine to leave us. We'll manage to fend for ourselves – we always do." She smiled at Numair, trying not to force the expression, whilst knowing she'd volunteered for something she really didn't want to do.

But then, she'd treated him when injured before, as he had treated her. And their friendship was worth more than enough to her than to let him cope on his own. It was just another test of loyalty, she decided, one which she'd happily – albeit figuratively – fulfil for all her friends.

* * *

Throughout the city of Corus, patrols of the King's Own moved through the streets. Each had their own route; some took winding paths around the outskirts, some moved through the streets populated by merchants and nobles. Others walked serenely through the marketplace, whilst several left through the city gates and dispersed throughout the surrounding countryside. One patrol even went so far as to load its hidden cargo aboard a ship in Port Caynn destined for Tyra. Such movement could not fail to grab the attention of the city's population, but this was exactly what the Knight Master of the Own and the second Spymaster had hoped for. 

Daine flew overhead of one such patrol, watching as Raoul's warhorse weaved through the busy streets, people clearing the way for the large knight. He was followed by six members of the Own, Numair's litter tied securely between four of the geldings. He had insisted on casting the invisibility spell himself; Daine thought more to prove his ability than for any other reason. She couldn't help but worry though; his strength still hadn't fully returned and he'd not been awake a day yet. The eighth visible member of the party, astride a golden horse, was carrying two saddlebags with a strung bow hung across his chest. The soldier was much smaller than the other members of the squad, his blue uniform ill fitting. Daine would have smiled if her form allowed it. She knew concealed under the rider's helm was the copper hair of Alanna, accompanying the group despite her disagreement with George. Daine swooped down to roost upon an eve while she waited for the party to reach their destination. Her sparrow's form would go unnoticed in the city, but still she wished there was more of her kind around to hide herself in. Finally the small cavalcade turned a corner into a side street and she lifted off again, her small wings beating quickly as she flew up higher for a better view. From her vantage point, she saw the group turn from the small road into the courtyard of a small, shabby house.

Landing on the pommel of Alanna's saddle as the small knight was dismounting, she waited until the knight had landed, her feet firmly on the ground, before she let her presence be known.

"Daine," her friend gave a small smile. She patted Darkmoon's flank before untying her saddlebags, slinging them over each shoulder. Daine fluttered to her friend's shoulder, using her new vantage point to examine the building that would be her home for the foreseeable future. If a bird could have wrinkled its beak, Daine would have. Golden Wood was not a suitable name for the area. There was a slight smell of the sewers, and the house could only be described as dilapidated. Several of the shutters were hanging loosely on their hinges, and Daine could see a pane of glass had been shattered in one window.

"It's not ideal," Raoul said from beside the pair, "but it's the best we could get at short notice. Some of Third have been working on it; it's in a much better condition then it was. The problems are only aesthetic; we'll have them fixed in no time."

"You couldn't have had them fixed already?" Numair was being assisted from his litter.

Alanna sighed. "You're just grumpy from the trip. We'll get you inside." She offered an arm to Numair, who ignored it at first, and then slung his arm around her shoulders, nearly hitting Daine in the process. She squawked at him indignantly before coming to settle on his arm. They took a few unsteady steps forwards before Raoul offered Numair support on his other side. Grumbling, the mage accepted, and the four made their way inside.

Once Numair had been settled in his room downstairs, and Daine had selected and dressed in hers, Raoul called them to a meeting in Numair's room. Once again the dark mage insisted on casting the silencing spell, and once again he incurred worried looks from Alanna and Daine, which he ignored. There they were introduced to the captain of the guards who would be staying with them, and the guard members on duty currently. Raoul addressed them on the procedures to follow whilst staying in Golden Wood, the actions to take if under attack, and what would make them most and least visible to the outside world, a lecture which Daine struggled to take in. Finally they were introduced to Abigail, and, as she greeted Numair with a coy smile, which he returned, along with a kiss on the offered hand, met by a giggle, Daine rolled her eyes at Alanna, who raised an eyebrow and shrugged in reply.

"Abigail," Alanna said with one of her sweeter tones, earning a surprised glance from Raoul, "could you fetch us two bowls of water to Master Salmalín's rooms, please. Boil them both first."

"Certainly, Lady Alanna." She bobbed her head, and, as Numair unwarded the room with a snap of his fingers – showing off for Abigail most likely, Daine thought – she left, followed shortly by the guards and Raoul.

Alanna looked between the two of them, and reached for her medicine bag on the floor. "Now, lessons."

"Already?" Numair queried. "Let the weary traveller rest before you plague him, Alanna."

She ignored his intended meaning, whether intentionally or otherwise, Daine wasn't sure. "We're hoping to avoid any sort of plague here, Numair, so yes, already. Daine needs to learn this now and there's only so many times I'll be here to show her. Besides, if you're as weary as you say you are, you'll be needing to sleep after this."

Numair sighed, and Daine smiled at him sympathetically. "Nice try, though."

He nodded in answer, before gesturing towards the bed. "I suppose I should be in there, then."

"Not necessarily," Alanna told him, preoccupied as she unpacked the contents of her bag, and then moved on to the large crate that was sitting in the corner of the room.

"Are those all supplies for me?" Numair asked. Daine could see him craning to see the contents of the box. She wandered over to help Alanna, and was laden with a bundle of wrapped woven bandages, before being pointed in the direction of the cupboard.

"Don't flatter yourself," she heard Alanna tell him. "They're partly for you, yes, but the rest of the house will need access to them too. Besides, you have so much extra leg to cover. Now look here, you two," she straightened, holding several bottles in her arms. She carried them over to the table in front of Numair, before placing them down and arranging them carefully. Rummaging through her bag, she produced another roll of bandaging, and set all her items on the table.

A knock on the door heralded the entrance of Abigail and a guard before Alanna could continue, carrying two large basins of water; one was placed on the wash stand, which Alanna had had Daine move over next to them, the other taken into Numair's washroom. "May I help at all?" Abigail asked brightly, surveying the scene.

Alanna glanced at Numair, who gave the discreetest shake of his head. "Not at the moment, thanks," Alanna said, the tone in her voice dismissing the woman. She looked momentarily nettled, and then left. "I'll lock the door," Alanna said. "So we don't have any more interruptions."

"Right," she began, after she and Daine had gone through all the necessary preparations. First she removed Numair's breeches, covering him modestly with a blanket whilst Daine averted her eyes. "Daine, unwrap the bandages on Numair's leg."

Under Alanna's watchful amethyst eyes, Daine gently removed the bandages from Numair's wounded leg. As they grew closer to the skin, the more discolouration and moisture was apparent. Glancing at Alanna's face, Daine saw it was creased in a frown. She looked at Numair to see if he had noticed it as well, but he had tilted his head back in the chair, and was studiously observing the ceiling.

"Numair," Alanna said quietly, as she worked her way around his leg, examining it from every angle, "Did your leg get jolted much on the journey?"

Daine could see the faint blush colour his once-swarthy complexion, even as he kept his eyes fixed above him. "Slightly."

"Even with the spells?" Alanna looked up abruptly, her finger extended mid-way to touching his ankle. Along with the tussle over who was to place the invisibility spells over his litter, Numair had also won the right to place steadying spells around himself for the journey.

"Yes," he said quietly, his voice tight.

Alanna straightened. "Exactly how much energy did you put into the invisibility spell?" she said sharply.

"Enough."

Either the mage had lost his ability to sense the Lioness's growing temper, or he was goading it just to see if he still could. Either way, Daine thought as she took a step back from the chair, he'd lost his mind.

"Numair, that's a spell that _novices_ can manage!"

"Exactly!"

"But if you didn't have the strength, why didn't you say? Even better, if you didn't have the strength for both, why didn't you use a cat's eye agate for the invisibility, and put all your strength into the steadying spells!" she hissed.

"Because if a novice can manage it, then a black robed mage should certainly be able to!" he exclaimed.

"Numair, no one's going to insult your pride or honour as a mage just because you're worn out!"

He muttered something which Daine, from her position with the table between her and the advancing Lioness, couldn't hear, before he said, "I'd still prefer to _know_ I'm able to rely on my own power when I have to."

Alanna seemed to laugh and choke on the words at the same time. "If you carry on like this, you won't _have_ any power to draw upon when you need it! You're body's already putting so much effort into healing you that you're weakened already – don't lower your defences any further."

"I don't see –"

"I don't think you appreciate how serious this is!"

Numair snapped his head down and met her gaze squarely. If it had been anyone less than Alanna, Daine would have half expected them to flinch at the fierce expression he wore. "I know exactly how serious this is. I _know_ exactly how lucky I am to be alive. _I know_, because I have _seen_ what he has done to people with that spell before, and I am a _fool_ not to have remembered it."

Alanna froze where she was. "He's used it before?"

"Of course he's used it before," Numair snapped. "Remember what he did to that Lord in Carthak? This is just a weaker version of that spell."

"But," Alanna murmured, her eyebrows brought together in a frown, "how do you know?"

Numair shook his head. "I've spent the best part of nine years trying to forget this, Alanna; I'm not bringing it up again now."

"You are," she stated simply. Those two words fell into the silence of the room, as Daine looked nervously between the two.

"Surely if he –" she began, trying to ease further tensions, but Numair blinked at Alanna and conceded their silent battle.

"When we were students, he used to – if something displeased him, a book, an essay or some other, he'd use that spell on it. Leave it for the slaves to clean up and be rid of it; that was his mentality. After that stopped being so 'satisfying', he changed to something else." Numair shot a wary look at Daine, as if judging her reaction before saying his words. "He would use – animals instead." Daine gasped, hands flying to her face, the smell of burning flesh suddenly stinging her nostrils once again. "He – he began on small animals, mostly rodents at first, then they got larger as his gratification decreased. That lasted until the day he became displeased at his horse, and decided, instead of wasting such a good beast, to take his anger out on the stable hand, a slave, instead. He said it was easier to find a replacement slave than a replacement horse of the same calibre." Seeing the look on their faces, he added, "He didn't kill the boy. Just scarred him. The slaves actually had access to some surprisingly good healers."

"Why didn't you stop him?" Alanna whispered in horror.

"You think I didn't try!" Numair hissed back. "Shakith knows I did. I narrowly avoided having the scars to prove it as well! I told him, time and time again, that he couldn't do it, that it wasn't right. He didn't listen. It just got worse." Numair scrubbed his face with his hands. From behind them, his muffled voice said, "In some ways, it wasn't so bad for the ones he killed outright. It was the ones who really vexed him I felt sorry for. They were his 'little toys,' he said. The ones that he would seriously injure, but keep alive so he could watch their suffering, add to their pain. I even tried to report him to his father, but he was dying by then – and I doubt he'd have been of any use. Ozorne would probably have had his way with him too. The slaves – they weren't allowed to be treated, healed. If he got bored of them, he'd end it himself, but the others… he'd just leave them." Daine watched, shaking, as Numair pushed his fingers hard against his forehead, the tips of his fingers blanching with the pressure. If possible, the disgust in his voice only increased when he spat out, "And now I'm one of his little play-things. Another trophy to add to his cabinet. And a black robe mage. He must be pleased."

Alanna grabbed his hands from his face, holding his chin so his eyes met hers. "Don't _ever_ say things like that again, Numair Salmalín, you're worth _hundreds_ of him."

Numair met her eyes doubtfully. "Am I?" he muttered.

"Of course you are!" Alanna exclaimed.

Daine came to his other side, for the first time coming close to him after he'd related his story. "You're to take these thoughts out of your head, Numair. He's not a man. He's not even a beast. You're the kindest man I know. Look at all the things you've given me. Books, learning, respect, friendship. More'n I could ask for, Numair." She took his hand and squeezed it gently. He gave her a weak smile in return.

"Stop thinking these things or you'll never be content with yourself," Alanna advised. When he gave the slightest nod, Alanna straightened. "Right, Daine, we have work to do. Now, wash your hands again – we can't risk this getting infected."

Alanna took her through the steps that were needed, producing first a cream that would numb Numair's leg whilst they cleaned. Showing her the way the severity of the burn differed, and treatment specific to each area, Alanna took her slowly, step by step through the necessary processes.

Daine glanced up at Numair's face whilst Alanna steered her about. Once again, that strange, clouded expression had appeared, and Daine couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. For once, she was having trouble understanding his thoughts, reading his facial expressions, as she had learnt to do in the years they had spent together. She had no doubt that he was listening intently to the redhead's instructions, despite the fact he seemed to be looking everywhere but at them.

"This area is the worst affected," Alanna told her, pointing along the underside of Numair's calf. "Most of the tissue was dead when you got us to him. If you find any we've missed, although we think we've removed the most of it, you _must_ get a message to us. If Baird or I can't attend, then we'll send someone else, but it must be treated. The same goes for infection."

"Why? Why do you have to remove the dead tissue?"

"Because you can't bring life to something that doesn't have any," Alanna said matter-of-factly. "When we're done, if you don't mind, I'll pass images of dead and infected tissue to you mind-to-mind, so you know what to look out for."

"Of course," Daine said quietly. She didn't like talking about parts of Numair as if he was dead.

The knight straightened and scrutinised Daine. "Are you all right? You look a bit pale."

"Mm," Daine answered. "Can we sit down for a bit? I just – I feel a bit – wobbly."

Alanna surveyed her sympathetically. "I know, it's a lot to take in, and a lot to be responsible for, especially with it being Numair, but it has to be done." She was silent for a moment, before ordering Daine to take a seat, whilst she fetched water. Daine drank it as slowly as possible in an attempt to put off the next stage, but all too soon it was time for them to begin again.

Alanna efficiently swabbed Numair's leg down with soap and water, showing Daine the most effective way to clean the wound and prevent infection. After they had cleaned and gently dried his leg, Alanna produced a soothing cream.

"Try not to waste this, but don't be sparing with it either," she instructed Daine. "It's expensive stuff. We have to import it from Carthak, so I got as much as I could before we left. They're working on growing the plant in the hothouse at the Palace, but they're having trouble regulating the temperature."

"That's because it's my spell," Numair muttered. "It'll work best if it's me that alters it."

"I thought you had to make it so that anyone could activate it," Daine glanced up at him as she worked.

"I do!" he protested.

Alanna laughed. "He makes it so they can activate it, but only he gets the best use of it. That way, he makes sure Jon keeps him around."

"He would hardly get rid of one of his best mages," Daine said.

"You've taught her well," Alanna smiled mischievously at Numair.

"I know," was his quiet answer.

Alanna and Daine looked at him, and then exchanged concerned looks with one another, before carrying on with their work. Normally, Numair would have taken the opportunity to be cocky about both his own, and his student's work, usually flattering Daine to the point of fluster when he was at his most charming. For him to remain quiet was very unusual; something else for Daine to wonder about.

Finally Alanna taught her how to bandage his leg, applying just the right amount of pressure needed, and making sure it was not too tight as to severely hurt Numair. As they stepped back to survey the finished work, Alanna patted her on the back. "You've done a good job youngling. Now, through there and –"

"Wash my hands," Daine interrupted with a smile. She was more than relieved that her work was over, and by the look on his face, so was Numair. She smiled at him as she left the room, but received only a blank look in return. As she scrubbed her hands, determined to remove every trace of her task, she could hear Alanna asking Numair various questions, and did her best not to listen to their answers. Deciding the best course of action was to leave them to it, she slipped quietly out of the room and away.

* * *

Half a bell later, whilst she was unpacking in her room, there was a tap at the door and Alanna entered, healers' bag with her, and closed the door softly behind her. For a while, they unpacked together, Alanna helping her hang her clothes in the small wardrobe. Finally, as she placed the last shirt in the cupboard, she turned to Daine. 

"Time to check how those cuts are healing, missy," she ordered.

Daine scowled. "They're fine, honestly they are."

"Numair's orders, Daine. There's no getting away from it." She pointed to the bed as she went to pull the shutters closed, a crack open to allow just enough natural light to enter the room. "Shirt off," she told the girl, and Daine reluctantly complied.

"Are you ready to tell me how you got these yet?" Alanna asked, as she began to systematically clean them with a cotton swab.

Daine sighed. "I told you, it was just an accident."

"Daine, that works as well on me as a page saying he fell works on Lord Wyldon. Never have I seen an animal hurt you like this. What happened?" Daine refused to answer, but immediately regretted it when Alanna said her next words. "Unless it wasn't an animal."

Daine looked studiously at the wall over the redhead's shoulder.

"It was Numair, wasn't it? When he was shapeshifted." When she received no answer still, she prompted, "Daine?"

"You're not to tell him. He has enough to worry about. I don't want him blaming himself for this too."

Alanna shook her head. "He'd want to know."

"He doesn't need to though. It won't help him."

Alanna sighed. "You're probably right. What will you do if he remembers?"

Daine blushed, remembering her state when it had occurred. "I'll decide when it happens. Is he – is he all right?"

"Apart from facing up to the fact that he'll probably be reliant on people for quite a while? I don't know Daine. He's covering something up."

"It's just – what he said earlier, about being one of Ozorne's toys." She paused, unsure how to carry on.

"I didn't like it either, Daine," Alanna told her. "There's something not right about his frame of mind. If he caught any of us with an attitude like that, he'd shake it out of us, especially if it was you."

"He's done it before," Daine said, remembering all the times that he'd lectured her on her worth, and how she was to disregard everything that had happened in Snowsdale after the death of her family unless it related directly to her magic.

"Exactly. But that man has a stubborn streak longer than even yours or mine sometimes. We'll – you especially – have to keep an eye on him. He's already trying to overstretch his Gift to try and prove himself."

"But he doesn't need to prove himself to us." Daine flinched as Alanna rubbed at a piece of dried blood.

"Sorry. You haven't been taking proper care of these Daine," she scolded.

"I've had other things on my mind," she replied shortly.

"I know. Anyway, I don't think he's trying to prove himself to _us_, exactly. I think it's more to himself. I don't know." She sighed. "See, here, it's infected. Have you cleaned these at all since I last checked them?"

"Yes," Daine defended. Maybe not as well as she should have, but she had.

"Hmm," Alanna sounded sceptical. "I'm sorry you have to be left with all this responsibility, Daine. If we could do anything to change it, we would."

"I know that," Daine sighed. "I just don't like being away from everyone, and we don't even know for how long."

"We'll have you out of here as soon as we can, I promise you. As soon as it's safe. I really wish you'd have let me stitch these at the time, Daine. They'll take so much longer to heal this way."

"You had other things to do," Daine pointed out.

"That's as may be, but it would have saved time now. There'll be scarring."

Daine shrugged. "It would have scarred anyway."

"Not as badly," the Lioness pointed out. "I left some tea with Numair that he's to drink if he gets an infection. Drink that tonight and until the infection clears up. He's also got the recipes for some poultices if you, or he, needs them. Don't be scared to ask them for him – I think he'd enjoy the work at the moment, and it doesn't involve using his Gift." She straightened. "I'll get Abigail to check these if I think you're not taking proper care of them."

Daine let out a small _humph_, and Alanna chuckled. "I thought you liked her," she commented sarcastically. "I don't know _where_ George got her from. Some sort of favour he owes, probably. I didn't ask."

"Will she be like that all the time, or is it just to impress?"

"Who knows, Daine?" Alanna leaned over and lit the small candle on the bedside table with a spark of violet. "We'll have to get you more candles in the morning." She yawned. "I'm going downstairs to check on Numair before he sleeps. If you need me in the night, I'll be in the room across the hall. Raoul's just down the corridor. Night, youngling."

"Night Alanna."

The older woman ruffled her hair and kissed her cheek before leaving. "Don't stay up too late." Waiting until the knight had left her alone, Daine began to pace.


	7. Chapter 6: The Beginnings of Doubt

**A mammoth chapter to tide you over. Not so sure about it, but it's 2 and a half hours before I leave, haven't quite finished packing yet, and I'm really, really tired. Hopefully ff . net won't be acting up just now... Hopefully. Please review!**

**Disclaimed!**

* * *

Numair was struggling to make his way into his night clothes, trying in vain to bend his bandaged leg, when he felt something tug at the sparkling wall of magic he had placed on his door. He cursed softly, before shouting, "Who is it?" 

"Your favourite warrior," came the wry reply. "Let me in, Numair."

He sighed, looking down at his semi-dressed state. "Can it wait?"

"No."

"Is Daine with you?"

"Unless she's the mouse at the skirting board, then no." He could hear Alanna quietly asking the mouse if it was indeed Daine.

Well, at least he was wearing a loincloth. Gesturing quickly, he dragged his magic away from the door with a _snap_, letting it burst open for Alanna. She stood in the doorway wearing a shocked expression.

"Can you help me?"

She shook her head, snapping back to her senses. "Of course." She hurried into the room, closing the door behind her. "You should have asked for help earlier, Numair," she said softly. She helped him step into his full length cotton breeches and pulled them up around his waist.

Numair sighed. "This is hopeless."

Alanna shook her head. "You just need a bit of practice, that's all. What is it you're always telling Daine? Learning to cultivate patience?"

He snorted. "That's all well and good, but how am I meant to get dressed in the mean time? I can hardly ask Daine, can I?"

Alanna sighed. "Maybe one of the guards?" she suggested.

Numair grimaced, not entirely comfortable with letting a stranger become so acquainted with his body when he was so unsure of it himself.

Alanna supported him over to the bed, helping him settle in it. "We'll work something out," she assured him. "When I broke my leg two winters ago, George made me a sort of stick with a claw on it. Because I couldn't bend, I used the stick to pick things up."

Numair smiled. "I remember it." At the time, he had teased Alanna for being an old woman, unable to reach the ground. Now it seemed as if he was in the same situation, and he only had his own failure to remember an old habit of a once-friend to blame.

"We'll get you one. Although," she added thoughtfully, "I never did have to use it to help me dress."

"Was that George's job?" he chuckled.

"He wasn't much use at it actually," she muttered wryly.

Numair snorted. "I'm shocked. And until you get it to me, how am I supposed to dress?"

"It'll be here by the time I leave, Numair. I'll contact Jon before I sleep – I said I'd let him know how everything was anyway."

"I'll do it," Numair started, already drawing on his flickering Gift.

Alanna sighed. "No you won't. I'll do it later." She placed her hand on his, and Numair could feel her Gift examining him, probing at his magic. "This," she said, a few moments later, "is far too low. You have to stop relying on it whilst you're healing Numair; otherwise it's going to prolong your recovery even more."

"I have to use it sometimes, Alanna," he reasoned.

"Sometimes, but not for everything," she retorted. "As your healer, I'm telling you to stop using your Gift for at least a week, unless absolutely necessary."

"Alanna! I was going to put wards on the house."

"I can do that. You don't have the strength to." He tried to protest as she continued. "Once you've recovered enough, you can replace mine, but until then, absolutely _no_ use of your Gift unless you really must." She paused to let the news sink in, before saying, "And I'll make sure Daine knows it too."

Numair scowled. If Daine knew, he'd almost certainly be under her close supervision. "And what if it's for educational purposes?"

"Daine would far rather you recover than waste your Gift for her sake, Numair," came the sharp reply.

"It's hardly a waste if it's to educate," he retorted.

"For this week, it is. You've not even a quarter of your normal resources, and that's _including_ all your opals and the like." Numair scowled; for her to know that, she must have done some extensive examinations whilst he was asleep. Alanna met his scowl with a raised eyebrow. "Did you think we wouldn't notice?"

"No," he sighed. "I suppose you would have." He paused, and then asked, "Do you have to tell Daine about my magic ban?"

Alanna laughed. "Yes! Otherwise how will we know you're complying with it? Someone has to keep an eye on you."

"How is she?"

Alanna smiled. "You know, she asked me the very same question about you not a bell ago. You could always ask each other." Numair shrugged in reply, which was again met with a lifted brow. "Either you two tell each other everything, or share nothing; it's your choice, but in normal circumstances –"

"But that's just it – we're not _in_ normal circumstances anymore, are we?" Normal circumstances might have meant travelling the length and breadth of the country together, not confined to one space. Normal circumstances meant lessons, teaching and experiments; encountering different people and animals along the way. Normal circumstances meant him watching over her, and her watching over him; a shared duty. Normal circumstances left no room for the student to be caring for her debilitated teacher twice a day who was unable to do anything for himself. Numair couldn't even make his own way to the privy; instead he had to be assisted through to his washroom. It left him feeling dependent and useless. _A broken toy_.

"Numair," Alanna started gently, "I know neither of you are used to this, and it's under difficult circumstances, but George has his Whisperers out everywhere tracking these men down. He's even considering turning to the Rogue for help so this can be over all the sooner. If you just talk to one another, things would be so much easier for the pair of you. At least, anyway," she added, "you could stop worrying about what the other is thinking and actually _know_."

Numair snorted. He didn't want anyone, least of all Daine, to know how he was feeling at the moment. "All I wanted to know is if she sat still whilst you checked her over."

Alanna smiled softly. "Yes, she did." She dropped down into the chair next to the bed, letting out a heavy sigh. "She's not healing as well as I'd have liked – she's not been looking after herself, because she's been so preoccupied with the well-being of a certain mage, and one of the cuts is slightly infected. It should clear up in no time with that tea though. Ask her if she's cleaned her cuts, and threaten her with Abigail if you have to, just to make sure she does it."

"What's wrong with Abigail?"

The knight snorted and rolled her eyes. "Just do it, Numair."

"Has she told you how she got the cuts yet?"

Alanna made a face. "I'm not at liberty to share."

"If I ask her will she tell me?"

She sighed. "Probably not."

Was Daine losing her trust in him too?

"She didn't really tell me so much as I guessed. I think she's more embarrassed that it happened, really," Alanna continued. "Just that she couldn't calm the animal enough, when normally she can."

"It must have been very distressed, if even she couldn't calm it," Numair said, thinking out loud. "An unusual animal indeed." He paused for a moment or two in contemplation. "There's something very strange about it. I'm sure I can remember something about being in the river, but I'm just not sure _what_ exactly."

"Mm," Alanna murmured.

Numair looked at her strangely; he knew the redheaded knight was holding something back from him, but he wasn't sure what or why.

"Anyway," she said, clearly in an attempt to steer the conversation away from Daine's injuries, "I think Daine's more worried about you at the moment than anything else."

"She has no need to be."

"She may not need to, but she wants to," Alanna countered. "You're her friend and she worries about you. It's only natural. Just like you worry about her," she finished.

"Yes, but I'm supposed to worry about her; she's my student."

Alanna smiled. "I know many a teacher who wouldn't care half as much about their pupils as you do Daine," she commented.

"Then maybe they aren't worthy teachers," Numair muttered softly. It was his duty to care for the safety and protection of his student after all, just as it was his duty to provide her with the correct resources for her education.

After Alanna had banked the fire and bade him goodnight, Numair stared at the patterns the flickering candle made on the ceiling, letting his mind drift from thought to thought with each shift of the light.

There were many things about this impairment that he didn't like. Least of all was the newfound dependency upon his friends. Numair was not often known for asking for help; he tended to keep his personal concerns to himself, only confiding in his close friends when he needed to most. This situation didn't seem imminently critical yet, so keeping them to himself seemed like the best course of action.

One thing that he liked even less about this was Alanna's clinical assessment of him whilst she was healing. It was only to be expected, he supposed; more than once, when she was healing or experimenting, Numair had told Daine not to become too attached to her patient or subject – her ever-shifting train of animals was large enough as it was; so for Alanna to treat him with the same detachment should be understood.

It still didn't mean he had to like it though. Especially when she was teaching Daine.

Talking about him as if he wasn't there. Words like "_fix_," as if he was broken. Maybe he was. "_Return_ _them_ _to_ _normal_," he'd heard at one point. "_Damaged_." "_Dead_."

It was no wonder he felt entirely worthless. His body, more specifically his leg, had been reduced to a series of labels and terms, conditions for treatment. Numair was just an anonymous 'he' in that world.

* * *

When Alanna and Raoul had finally left around mid-afternoon, called back by an agitated Jon to a war council meeting, something which Numair, and maybe even Daine, would normally have been involved in, the house seemed to settle into a false stillness. Numair had no idea where Daine was; probably avoiding him, he thought to himself; and he was agitated by his current confinement to his bed. He couldn't even move over to his armchair without help, or go to investigate the study, which, he had been promised, was filled with useful books chosen specifically for his reading. Without his Gift, he had no means of immediate contact with anyone outside the house, and he found himself yearning for even a conversation on the best means of horse grooming with Onua. His amiable friend, no matter how much they enjoyed bickering with one another, would no doubt have set his feet back on the ground with a bump. Or foot anyway. 

A light rap on the door brought his senses back to earth. "Come in," he called, expecting Daine to enter the room. Instead, bustling in with a tray came Abigail.

"Master Salmalín," she bobbed a small curtsy, before making her way over to the table. "I brought you some afternoon refreshments," she informed him. "Tea and cake."

"That's very kind of you, Mistress Wainwright," he smiled. "Have you seen Daine?"

She shook her head. "I can't find the lady anywhere, sir. I did check her room, but I couldn't see her. Sorry."

"No need to apologise," he commented. He watched as she hefted the table towards the side of his bed, bringing the food closer, and only wished he could use his Gift to help. He knew if he did though, Daine was bound to come in at any moment and report him to Alanna the next time she saw her. Although, at least Daine would be there.

As the maid turned to leave, he said quickly, "Would you like to join me? I don't think I could manage all this by myself." While that was true, he had no real desire to spend any more time on his own.

She blinked in surprise, and then that bright smile returned. "Certainly Master Salmalín."

"Call me Numair, please."

She kept her eyes trained on the table as she placed a chair next to it. "A great mage like you? I'm not sure I could manage that," she said meekly.

"Oh, nonsense," he grinned. "If we're to be living together, I certainly won't hear of it. It makes me feel _old_."

She laughed, a light tinkling noise, saying, "You're far from old, Master Salmalín." She leaned forward and began pouring dark green liquid from a teapot. Numair eyed the brew with suspicion.

"Is this one of Alanna's mixes?" he asked, examining the cup.

Abigail giggled. "The lady said you'd say that. She also said you'd have to drink it."

Numair sniffed the liquid, his nose wrinkling in disgust before taking a large sip. The liquid didn't taste as bad as he'd expected, and he took another experimental mouthful. "It's an interesting mix," he concluded. "I'll have to get her recipe."

Glancing up, he found the maid examining his face with curiosity. When he met her eyes, she blushed and looked away. Numair was sure he could feel heat tingeing his cheeks as well.

There was an awkward silence in the room for a moment as Numair watched the loose tea leaves swirl around the bottom of his cup. "So," he said after a moment, "How do you know George?"

Her face became closed, before the maid said quietly, "You know of his past?"

Numair smiled. "I'm well schooled in it." Somehow, her reluctance to share details was reassuring. He thought they would be able to rely on her.

"I was a member of his Court – not a very high one though. He knows me mostly through his cousin."

"You're friends with Rispah then?"

"You know her?"

The shared knowledge lead to more conversation, Numair relaxing in the maid's company as their discussion continued. Numair was beginning to feel more and more like his usual self, and realised, at one point, with some shock, that Abigail was even flirting with him.

"Tell me, Master Salmalín," she began, "you hear some strange stories about you and your student in the city. They can't all be true."

Numair laughed. "They probably are."

"But it's said she can take the shape of an animal!"

Numair smiled proudly. "She can. She can talk and listen to them, take on their form and their mind and even make them do her bidding, although she prefers not to. She can communicate with immortals as well."

Abigail looked shocked. "So the story where she captured a traitor to the crown as a wolf is true?" Numair nodded. "And she could control all the animals in this city?"

"She could control all the animals within a fifteen mile radius," Numair said. "Although," he emphasised, "she doesn't like to _force_ or _order_ the animals into anything they don't want to."

"A true friend of animals indeed," she whispered, looking slightly awed. Numair only hoped she wouldn't become one of the many who, on hearing the extent of Daine's power, became cowed around the girl. "What about the wild cat that roamed around the lower city last winter?"

Numair laughed. "The tiger story? We never found out where that tale came from. It certainly wasn't Daine, and she would have known if there had been one roaming the streets. We were in Corus then."

Abigail looked as if she was about to ask him something, but then closed her mouth. "And what of yourself, Master Salmalín? What mighty spells have you performed that I might have heard tales of?"

Numair smiled. "Most of my workings are either archaic or for experimental purposes. My work in the field isn't so consummate."

She looked mildly disappointed. "So the tale of you turning a man into a tree isn't true?"

"Well," he admitted, "it might be."

She smiled triumphantly. "A tree? A real tree?"

He smiled. "An apple, if I remember correctly."

"Unbelievable. It truly is," she whispered, sounding impressed.

Numair looked at her appraisingly. "You know, most who hear of my exploits cover their eyes and run away. I'm positively feared by some people."

Abigail smiled, her eyes warm. "You're as feared as you are loved, Master Salmalín."

He blushed. "Numair, please, Mistress Wainwright."

She leaned towards him slightly as if to whisper something conspiratorially to him, and he echoed the movement. He knew something was requiring his attention on the edge of his consciousness, but he couldn't drag his eyes away from the woman in front of him as he waited anxiously to hear what she would say.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" a voice exclaimed from the doorway. Numair looked up to find Daine standing there, clutching a book, her face a mixture of shock and amusement.

He cleared his throat, knowing he was blushing. "Daine!" he exclaimed.

"I knocked, but you can't have heard." She glanced down at her feet, clearly embarrassed.

"Mistress Sarrasri," Abigail smiled. "We were just having tea. I called you earlier, but I couldn't find you."

"No, I was exploring," Daine said from her position by the door. "And please, it's Daine." She looked down again and then back at Numair, wearing a curious expression. "I was wondering if we could have a lesson. If you're not too busy, of course." She sounded like she was almost apologising. Numair couldn't even begin to comprehend why.

"Of course, if you want." He glanced at Abigail.

"I'll take my leave," she said, taking his hint. "I was never one for learning my letters." She stood up, smoothing her skirts as she did. "I'll speak to you later," she said softly, meeting his eye. Numair felt his cheeks heat more as he gave a slight nod. She smiled, and turned to Daine. "If you'll excuse me, Daine, Numair."

"Thank you again," he said. If there was one thing Numair could be, it was polite.

"Well," Daine said, taking Abigail's vacated chair once she had left the room, closing the door behind her. He waited for her to continue, but she didn't, merely helping herself to one of the slices of cake. She was silent as she ate, and Numair could only wonder what she was thinking.

"I, um," he hesitated, "I don't have a lesson planned," he said. Why did he feel like he should be apologising to her?

"No matter," she smiled. "You always find something."

Suddenly Numair found he was wondering at her trust in him. He snorted. "I do not."

She shrugged, clearly disagreeing. He watched as she placed the plate, covered in crumbs, on the floor.

"Oh, no, not for the mice, Daine," he groaned. Daine grinned at him, mischief in her eyes. "Do you feed _everything_?"

"You know I do," she smiled. "Besides, it's the easiest way to make friends with them. Well, apart from rats. There's no making friends with them."

"And are there many mice here?"

"Oh you know, no more than usual," she said noncommittally.

Numair smiled. "Then you better put my plate on the floor too, and remember and tell them who gave it to them."

Daine laughed as she did so, and pushed her book forwards into his hands. "Do you still have your –" he hesitated, "– divine Gift?" he settled on.

She nodded. "Unfortunately."

Numair shook his head, contemplating. Finally he shrugged. "I got George to gather some of my fossils for us to experiment on, once I'm steadier on my feet."

"Like the ones I made Bone from?" she asked, shocked. "But Numair, some of those are beautiful!"

He shrugged. "And we need to experiment so you can learn to control your new magic. I can make sacrifices for my favourite student," he smiled at her. "Besides, we can hardly have you wondering the streets of Tortall forever and resuscitating every dead animal you touch. _That_ would take some explaining," he finished as she giggled. "Now," he said, feeling more at ease, "Mammal, reptile or fish?" he asked, flicking the pages as he went, glimpses of coloured skeletons flashing past.

Two bells rang without either noticing until a knock on the door alerted them to the fact that dinner was ready. Instead of being reduced to leaning upon his student, Abigail brought them their meal through. Only when the maid had returned to clear their plates did the conversation cease. Numair caught the glimpse from beneath lowered lashes that Abigail gave him. Apparently, so did Daine.

"That didn't take you long," she muttered.

"What?" he looked up, startled by her remark.

"Your latest conquest. All of a day, Master Salmalín."

Numair knew, with his significantly paled complexion, that his blush would surely be showing. "I don't know what you're talking about, Daine," he muttered.

She half snorted, half laughed. "She's smitten already, Numair. And you are with her," she added as an afterthought.

"I am not!" he defended.

Daine only smiled knowingly and shook her head infuriatingly. "She's exactly your type as well, apart from the lack of court dress."

"This is nonsense, Daine," he growled.

"It's perfectly true," she replied casually. "If you were feeling quite yourself, you'd have swept her off her feet already."

"What's _that_ meant to imply?" he exclaimed.

"That if we were in the Palace, she'd be half in love with you already, following you around like a puppy dog who's lost its mother and trying to take part in our lessons to impress you."

Numair scowled. "Not once have I let _any_ woman join your lessons without academic purpose."

"Not for lack of them trying."

Numair decided not to answer. The problem was, some of what she spoke was the truth. The other problem was that he was unlikely ever to be able to act like that again. Usually, he would have taken what he knew was Daine's teasing with a pinch of salt, and probably given as good as he got – she had had her fair share of swains and suitors before they left for Carthak, most of whom he had _innocently_ warned off – but at the moment he felt – he knew – that he could never return to that sort of life. No woman would have him now, in this state.

Daine noticed his silence. "Are you all right?" she asked cautiously. Her hand slid across the table and settled on his.

He sighed. "Not overly, magelet, no."

"What's wrong?"

Remembering Alanna's words from the night before, he sighed. Maybe it was time to confide in someone after all. "I just don't see how you can say that she's smitten."

Daine looked confused. "Why wouldn't she be? Most women are, around you."

"They won't be anymore," he muttered.

"And why's that?" She sounded truly confused; Numair thought her acting was admirable. Maybe she wasn't such a bad liar after all.

Without looking at her, he gestured roughly in the direction of his leg. "That," he spat.

Daine was momentarily silent. Without seeing her, he couldn't tell from the expression on her face what she was thinking. "Numair," she said slowly, "There's nothing wrong with you."

He laughed mockingly. "Daine, tell me how many women at court _you_ know that would happily associate with a man who cannot stand unaided, and whose leg will be permanently damaged and scarred? For I can think of nary a one."

Daine's hand clenched around his, her grip suddenly painfully tight. "Have you ever thought that you deserve far more than the women at court? Those who cannot see beyond your injury certainly aren't deserving of _your_ time, Numair." Her voice was harsh as she spoke. Numair could only assume she wasn't sympathetic towards his cause. After all, it wasn't her that would be left with scars that would last a lifetime. "And besides," she continued, her voice slightly softer, "the women of court will flock to you even more so now."

"Hah!" he laughed outright at this.

Daine shook her head. "You're a war hero now, Numair. Not only are you one of the most powerful mages in the world, you risked life and limb to save a poor, defenceless, untitled girl of little or no consequence." She winced as she realised what she'd said. "Sorry. Bad turn of phrase."

He shook his head. "And where did you hear that?"

"Numair, it's all round the Palace. The women will _flock_ to you when we get back, what with your dashing scars as a result of your bravery and selflessness, crutch or no."

"I meant, where did you hear that you were a –"

"'A poor, defenceless, untitled girl of little or no consequence?'" she reeled off. "I hear it all the time, when you're not there." She shrugged. "At least it's a step up from bastard. It's amazing what you can hear when people don't realise you can make yourself bat ears. Although, I'm not so sure about the 'defenceless' bit."

"Daine, how can you not be upset by these things?"

She shrugged once more, not meeting his eyes. Numair was sure that other people's words niggled at her, no matter whether she admitted it or not. "I've heard them all my life. I'm used to it. How can you be bothered by them when I'm not myself and I'm trying to tell you about how much the women of the court are in even _more_ _awe _of you than usual?" She shook her head. "The women will be all over you on our return. Everyone knows it. There'll be a fight over who'll be the first to meet you out of your carriage, and they'll be falling at your feet. Swooning. It'll be just like when the new girls arrive from the Convents, with all the pages and squires fighting over their riding gloves and 'dropped' handkerchiefs, except in reverse." She smiled, but Numair could see it didn't quite meet her eyes. "You'll be spoilt for choice."

Numair shook his head at her nonsense, knowing she only spoke it to cheer him. "You've some imagination on you, magelet."

"It's not imagination," she said gravely. "It's the Gods-own truth. Chavi West-wind strike me if I lie. Anna of Brightleigh was actually challenging Lady Florence of Nenan and Catherine of Meag Marsh for your first dance when we get back."

"But Florence is betrothed! And Catherine's but a girl" he whispered. Catherine was, after all, an age with Daine.

She looked momentarily irked. "That's my point. Florence is to be married next month and she's still squabbling over you."

He shook his head disbelievingly. For all that she had sworn to the Gods, invoked the K'miri Goddess of marriage even, he still wasn't entirely sure Daine was speaking with complete accuracy. Daine shifted in her chair, bringing her knees up to curl around her body. "The women of Court certainly won't be forgetting about you anytime soon, Master Mage. If anything, they're even more besotted than usual."

* * *

As the room darkened and candlelight became the predominant source of light in the room, Numair decided that his student, although not he himself, was in need of sleep. However, before they could bid one another good night, there was a final task that had to be completed. Daine had to treat his leg, for the first time on her own. Numair wouldn't have needed to know his student as well as he did to know how nervous and unsure of herself she looked. 

He watched her as she paced around the room, taking what seemed like an age to wash her hands with the disinfectant Alanna had left. Slowly she gathered her materials around her, all the while avoiding actually looking at his leg, the colour slowly draining from her features. Finally she stood before him, looking nervously at his leg, her eyes flicking from it to the bandages, salve and basin. She did not look comfortable. He hadn't missed the look of fear on her face when he had first suggested that she tend his leg until he was able. He wasn't so sure now whether it was fear or disgust. He grimaced. He did not want her pity, her sympathy.

Numair sighed. Maybe he was asking too much of her. Sometimes it was easy to forget she was only fifteen, with all the experiences they had shared, all he knew she had been through. Maybe it was asking too much for her not to be repulsed by him now.

He glanced at her strained, pale face. "Daine, you don't have to do this if you don't want to," he said quietly.

She glanced up at him, and then flicked her eyes back down to his leg. "Nonsense," she said, in a voice that sounded more confident than she looked. "I'm just working out the best way to go about this, that's all."

He nodded. He knew she wasn't being entirely truthful, but then how would he feel, at any age, being left to take care of a - damaged leg of a close friend? The fact she was trying was enough for him.

"Honestly, Daine, I don't mind," he murmured. "I'm sure I can get along just fine on my own. I don't want to pressure you into this."

She shook her head. "Were you even paying attention to what Alanna actually did? Let me know if I'm hurting you."

He chuckled softly. "Daine, it hurts all the time. I won't be able to tell the difference."

"Oh, that's reassuring," she muttered, and he smiled. At least her humour hadn't left her.

She bent down and started to attend to the task of undoing the bandage. He could feel how much her hands were trembling as she did so, and successfully managed to hold back a gasp of pain as she pressed too hard on one spot. He did not manage to hide his body's reaction though.

"I'm sorry," she apologised quickly. She looked absolutely horrified.

"Daine, don't worry," he said, in a tone he hoped was reassuring.

"No, I just – I knew this was a bad idea," she said quickly. "I mean, who am I to go thinking I can treat anyone? I'm no healer!" She sat down in the chair next to the bed, hands still trembling on the mattress.

"Magelet," he said softly. There must have been something imploring in his tone as she glanced up and met his eyes. "Magelet," he said again, "I trust you. I know you can do this. I know you're capable."

She shook her head. "I'm fifteen. I can't heal humans. I can't treat you well enough."

"Since when has age been a barrier to _you_? Daine, I wouldn't have asked you to do this if I hadn't believed in your capabilities." He had had to reassure her of her abilities before, albeit not in a situation like this.

"Sometime I think you believe too much of me," she muttered.

"As you do of me, Daine," he said softly. He reached out to cover one of her trembling hands; physical contact often felt like the best way to reassure Daine to him. "You can manage this." Slowly but surely, he coaxed Daine into caring for him, maintaining a stream of conversation with her as she worked, although not once did he look at what she was treating as he did so. He couldn't bring himself to face that yet.

Daine banked the fire and brought a single lit candle to his bedside before they bade one another good night, knowing that despite his current ban Numair's Gift was too powerful to extinguish them. The irony of the situation was, this was probably one of the first times in years he _might_ be able to put out a candle with his Gift, his reserves were so low. Maybe Alanna _was_ right, as much as it pained him to admit it.

She paused at the side of his bed, looking unsure as to what to do or say next. Numair looked up curiously at her. "I'm sorry about earlier. I was just nervous."

He shook his head; no need to apologise. "As I would have been. You did well, Daine."

She smiled, looking slightly happier by his assessment. "Is there anything you want before I leave? A drink? Or a book perhaps?"

He smiled. "You know me too well. In my pack, there should be a bound copy of _The Sun Scrolls_. I brought it for some light reading. If you could –"

Daine had already crossed the room and was searching amongst one of his unpacked bags. She laughed as she lifted the tome. "'Light' reading?" she questioned.

"Of course!" he said with pretend shock. "What else?"

Daine smiled. "What else indeed." She handed the book to him, and, with mock severity added, "Now Master Salmalín, no reading for too long, or you'll be tired in the morning."

He laughed at her. "Night, magelet. Sleep well."

She hesitated and then leant down and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. "G'night Numair. I'll see you in the morning."

Numair could feel his cheek tingling as she left the room, as if her lips had been covered in the numbing cream. Now _there_ was something to be considered.


	8. Chapter 7: Barriers

**Maybe I do have time to update after all. I am actually shattered, and my head is filled with Gaelic (and, strangely and _very_ inconveniently, German) and I have more words to learn, pictures to take, and possibly alcohol to drink, but here I am anyway! Thank you to my reviewers who are still with me! If you're reading this and you haven't reviewed, please, please review. It's not that I'm fishing, but I really do appreciate them. Your encouragement makes this all the easier – I enjoy writing this, but it's the posting bit that makes me nervous. I want to know what you think of it!**

**The disclaimer is as usual. The characters and places you don't recognise are mine (especially Ùisdean, who may have the greatest name ever), as is the plot; those you do are the creation of Tamora Pierce.**

* * *

"Lady Diane." One of the guards smiled at her as she came into the kitchen. More than a week had passed since their arrival in Golden Wood, and Daine was looking for something to do. Numair was sleeping, and she had decided to brave the kitchen, and the possibility of Abigail, in search of activity. 

"It's just Daine, please," she replied with a grin. "May I?" she gestured at a spare seat at the table where two of the soldiers sat playing cards.

"Help yourself," the man said, returning his attention to his hand. Daine studied them closely; while Daine was not overly known for her card-playing skills, the game was one she was adept at, having once even won several gold nobles from Numair, much to his chagrin. After a few rounds had passed, she joined in, enjoying the easy discussion between the two men, Lachann and Graham. Graham, the oldest of the pair, had light brown hair that touched his shoulders, hazel eyes and a genuine air about him that Daine liked. Lachann, who seemed not much older than Daine herself, had red-blond hair cropped short, and sparkling green eyes that flashed whenever they made eye-contact with one-another.

Finally Graham threw his cards down in disgust, after Daine had once again cleared the kitty of its contents. "I'm leavin' now, or you'll be takin' the rest of my wages," he told the two. "Play nice," he warned Daine, "Or you'll drain his purse an' all."

Daine grinned at Graham. "It wasn't so bad," she told him innocently. "I've done worse damage." The man scowled and she laughed as he stalked off.

"So," Lachann turned his attention to her. "Another round?"

She nodded her head in consent and watched closely as he dealt the cards.

"Do you always watch the cards so?" he asked. "Or is it that you just don't trust your guard?" He didn't sound insulted.

Daine laughed. "It helps to watch things when half the people you play with practise sleight-of-hand for their entertainment."

The man looked confused for a moment, and then smiled. "You're friends with Lady Alanna and the Baron, aren't you?"

She grinned. "I am. But it's not just them." She jerked her head at the kitchen door in the direction of Numair's rooms. "Numair likes to when he has half the chance."

Lachann looked shocked. "Master Salmalín?" he asked. "The Great Mage?" She nodded her confirmation, amusement in her eyes at his expression. "Who'd have thought?"

Daine grinned. "He learned it when he had to, a long time ago. Now I think he does it to see if he can make things appear and disappear where they aren't supposed to _without_ his Gift."

The older man shook his head, and silence was all that could be heard for a moment whilst they concentrated on the game. "Have you been with Master Salmalín long, then?"

"Three years, give or take," she answered. When her response was met only by silence, she looked up into his face. "What?"

"But he's _old_. You would've been but a youngster!"

Daine was momentarily confused, then a rush of anger washed over her. "He's my teacher, not my bed-master," she spat, appalled that the man would even think that of her and her lecturer.

Lachann blushed, looking horrified. "I'm sorry," he started, but Daine suddenly didn't have the patience to deal with the handsome man. "You hear stories –"

"And I'd have thought, a member of the Own as you are, you would have been taught to ignore them by now," she hissed. She stood up, tired of their game. "It's gossip like that that can do more harm than good, and a wagging tongue helps no one in battle," she informed him tartly. Leaving her pot on the table, she swiftly left the room, and the apologetic soldier behind.

She needed air; she needed to feel free. She couldn't do that in this confined, stuffy house. And if she couldn't leave, then she could at least find somewhere she could breathe. And she knew exactly where to go.

Daine breathed in fresh air for what felt like the first time in weeks. The small attic space she had discovered above her room was dusty and full of cobwebs, but it also had a small gap in the tiles where air flew through the cavity. It still seemed stale, trapped inside Alanna's protective shield, but she had decided it was better than nothing. She had even found some evidence of nesting, and she hoped that if, Gods forbid, they were still there in the spring, she would have some nesting birds to watch. Dusting some dirt away as best she could, she took a seat next to the small chink in the roof, letting the air wash over her face.

So much had happened in the past fortnight that she wasn't even sure where to begin with it all. She couldn't honestly think of a time when she had been able to sit and think about everything that happened on her own, without interruption or questions or overwhelming tiredness and worry. Now thoughts and memories rushed over her; from escaping Ozorne and then Carthak, to her current containment, which she wasn't sure she would be able to stand much longer. Being able to talk to the People was all very well, but she missed contact with them. As nice as the mice that lived in the floorboards were, she missed seeing dogs, cats and horses; the Rider ponies, most of whom she'd helped train, and Cloud especially. The occasional mind conversation with her sassy mare was all very well, but Daine didn't think she'd be able to endure with only that until she was released.

Most of all, Daine was worried she would begin to feel caged. Already, a tight pressure had settled somewhere in her chest, bubbling at the base of her throat. If it grew any bigger, she knew it would begin to resemble mild panic. So far, she had not been permitted to leave the house itself; not even to go into the courtyard or investigate the stables which she had been assured were there. Apparently they were only for the stabling of the Own's mounts, _not_, she had been informed, for Cloud. As much as she knew it would be unfair on the pony to keep her there, with nowhere to exercise or graze, the selfish part of Daine wanted her presence.

Not, she reminded herself with a scowl, that she would be allowed out to see her.

* * *

As it was, it was two weeks before Numair finally judged himself able to create the shields that the house required. After much contemplation, he finally decided on his method and announced it to Daine and the guards as dusk was falling over the city: image magic. 

Daine, seated next to the mage in his room, leaned forward on the table as he finished describing his plan. "And what am I supposed to do, exactly?"

"You, Daine, will be acting as my limbs in the process. In fact, magelet, you are my wings in this instance." He grinned and tweaked her nose. Turning his attention to the guards, he explained, "Normally I would walk the perimeter of the area that needs protecting, but I'm somewhat incapacitated at the moment." He shrugged, his light smile not quite meeting his eyes as he turned back to her. "Take on bat form, and, _acting as naturally as possible_, I want you to map every inch of the building, the courtyard, and its perimeter. From that, I can build my model."

"Raoul said we weren't to leave the house," she reminded him.

Numair smiled. "'Unless in exceptional circumstances' was the qualification, Daine. This is one of those circumstances."

Ùisdean, the captain of the guard, nodded. "This is in order to increase protection, and the likelihood of someone being able to identify you as a bat is very slim."

"If you're sure," she said, standing. Still doubtful as to what Numair actually intended to do with her information, she ducked behind the changing screen in his room. Within moments, she was being conveyed in bat shape by a slightly nervous Abigail into the small courtyard that the house owned. Wincing as Abigail gave, what seemed to Daine's fragile ears, a piercing shriek to Numair, Daine heard Alanna's barrier disappear with a snap.

Reflecting that she would have to tell Numair to find a quieter way to conduct his magic, she took off, joyfully flitting around the courtyard and enjoying her new-found, if temporary, freedom. The pressure she had felt building on her chest over the past two weeks dispersed quickly through her body, and Daine felt free enough to _breathe_ again. Finally she turned to her task though, and flitting, spiralling and diving as a bat would when feeding, she used her sensitive hearing to build an exact picture in her mind of the dimensions of the house.

The street was almost empty as she swooped down through it, her nose twitching at the less than sanitary smells, her ears flicking back and forth at the unusual noises and snatched conversations that floated from unshuttered windows. Her range of chirps fluttered back to her ears as she developed the picture of the building in her mind. Finally, feeling her work was complete, she flew past the tensed guards stationed at the unprotected gate, through the courtyard, and into the building. Knowing Numair's sense of hearing wasn't as good as hers, and that he would be unable to hear her high-pitched calls, she fluttered in front of him, before landing in his outstretched hand.

"You're finished?" he asked softly, lifting his hand closer to his face. She gave a small nod, and began searching through the smells of his palm. His hand, overlarge when she was her normal size, dwarfed her new form. She filtered through the smells on his palm, identifying the oak of the stick he used to lean on when walking, the tang of metal from the cutlery he'd used at dinner, even feel, she realised, what must be his Gift as it rippled and buzzed just below the surface of his skin.

"Daine, I need to raise the barriers again, so if you'll let me move you?" He transferred her to his shirt, and she clung on tightly as he began his work, sifting through the scents of his clothes. Touching the token Alanna had given him, Numair began whispering words Daine couldn't understand. Finally he sat back in his chair, his breathing slightly heavier, and his heart pounding loudly in Daine's sensitive ears. Carefully he loosened her claws from his shirt and returned her to his hand.

"May I?" he asked. Obligingly she gripped his extended finger, hanging upside down as he examined her form. "Common pipistrelle," he murmured to himself. He brushed one of her large ears gently. "A member of the microchiroptera suborder, using sound and not sight to establish its surroundings and locate prey, as theorised by Lindhall Reed, proven by _you_." He ran a gentle finger along her spine, grinning. "Try censuring you, eh, magelet? Mithros knows I've tried. Now," he carried on, gently expanding a wing to its full span. "Thinner wings mean faster and more precise movement compared to that of a bird. Special membranes in the wing provide the ability to gather information about the air flowing over the wings. Truly amazing little creatures, really. The wings are composed of four long, flexible bones, covered with two layers of skin that cover the length of the body and stretch across the back, with a small, hook-like thumb."

As he spoke, he ran his fingers across the bones and the extra-sensitive skin he described, making Daine's tiny form shiver. Carefully he examined her wings for a moment more, before moving to her legs. Gently he placed her on her back in one of his hands. "Hind limbs that can be rotated so that they can bend both forwards _and_ backwards, thought to be an adaptation for landing and take-off. Fascinating animals," he finished. "No wonder they're one of your favourites, Daine." He sighed regretfully. "I suppose you should change back so that I can get on with raising our defences."

Emerging from behind the changing screen once fully reformed and dressed, Daine took a seat opposite Numair at the small table in his room. Whilst she had been dressing, a large quantity of modelling clay had been delivered, and Numair was busying warming it with his hands.

"You're not using your Gift?" Daine asked as she took a handful and began to help him.

"No. As much as I hate to admit it magelet, Alanna may have been right. I don't want to expend myself any more than I have to." Finally Numair was satisfied with the pliability of the clay.

"I didn't know you were a sculptor," Daine said mildly as she watched him.

"I'm not. My Gift is though. Daine, I need to take the information of the house from your mind, if you'll let me."

Daine nodded and leaned forward. Numair placed his hands, sticky from the clay, at each side of her head, his fingertips resting lightly on her temples.

_Show me._ Numair's voice came from inside her core. Daine let herself slip inside her mind, and pulled the information to her mind's fore, translating the image from sound into something more tangible that Numair would understand. As if repeating her flight, the pair traced the perimeter of the building and courtyard until Numair knew it as well as Daine. Silently, she felt his presence slip from her mind, and then his warm hands from her face.

When she opened her eyes, Numair's hands, sparkling with black fire, were gripping the clay. As his Gift began to envelop the material, Daine watched in fascination as it began to move. At first, only small pieces were shaped, small depressions and ridges appearing. Soon though, Daine could see the definite form of the house taking shape, and the walls of the courtyard and cobblestones of the street outside surrounding it. By the time half a hour had passed, nearly a perfect replica of the house sat before Daine, from the tiles on the roof to the scrubby patch of grass in the courtyard.

Numair opened his eyes with a gasp, sweat pouring from his face. "Water," he breathed. Daine scurried across the room to comply with his request, taking a dipper from the pitcher of water that was on his bedside table. When Numair was finally able to do more than gasp, he sat back in his chair, surveying his handiwork.

"It's better than the one Tristan Staghorn made at Dunlath," Daine pointed out. "His wasn't near so detailed."

Numair nodded, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. "They couldn't have covered all that ground and known it in the detail you've provided. Most likely the only resource they had to work from was maps, to give them the contours of the region. Magelet, when you use image-magic, especially for purposes such as these, there can be small anomalies between the model and the reality. Humans change, plants grow. Because they are images of living things, by their very nature, they can't be identical – the image won't change in correspondence to the reality."

"What about simula-thingies?"

Numair rolled his eyes. "Will you ever learn?"

Daine grinned mischievously. "Not likely."

He sighed theatrically before continuing. "Simulacras are different. They are animated representations of life, and as such, will change according to the subject on which they are based, and are able to interact with their surroundings. For example, my simulacrum in Carthak must have been able to comply with Ozorne's demands and react to what it was being told. Most importantly, it had to be an accurate physical representation of me." He took another sip of water. "Therefore, even though it was finished and sent to Lindhall weeks before we arrived in Carthak, details like the hair and face had to change to maintain an accurate semblance."

"Is there no way to combine the two types of magic so that the model can change to represent real life then?"

Numair's hand instantly went to his nose, fluttering lightly over the bridge, before dropping back into his lap. "I suppose there would be," he nodded thoughtfully. "They _are_ similar. Though it isn't strictly necessary."

Daine was slightly surprised at the lack of enthusiasm her question had brought. Normally when faced with the prospect of new magical possibilities, Numair's eagerness was boundless. "But suppose there was a large tree in the courtyard. Would it not be better if, instead of stopping the tree from growing or moving, the barrier could be made to move to allow for it?"

"So that the barrier would correspond to the movements of the model it covered?" Daine nodded. "It's an interesting thought, Daine. I'm sure it could be done." He glanced down at the model before them. "Not with this though. I don't want to start experimenting on something that's critical to our, and yours in particular, safety." Daine began to make noises of objection, but Numair shook his head. "I'm responsible for you, Daine. I was responsible for you in Carthak, and look what happened. I made some foolish mistakes there, and I won't take any risks again."

"Numair, you're _not_ taking any risks. If us being here is all about you being worried for my safety, I think this is a bit extreme."

Numair made an exasperated noise and cursed. "Daine, can you remember what happened in Carthak? _I_ don't think that this is over-necessary. I wouldn't be going to such lengths with creating a shield if I did."

"He has to search the whole of the country," she argued. "How could he possibly find us?"

"Quite easily, Daine. It doesn't take much to bribe some. If we were out as normal, almost everyone would know where we were, even by just watching how animals react when they know you're in the vicinity." Numair's voice rose in frustration. "If you think this is some overwrought folly cooked up entirely for amusement purposes, Daine, you are more than welcome to say so. But believe me, the last thing you are doing is leaving, because our little 'adventure' in Carthak has clearly given you absolutely no concept or grasp on exactly how far Ozorne will go to get his own way. He wants me _dead_, magelet. And you, he wants to capture you, turn you against Tortall and use you for who knows what after, if he doesn't kill you before that."

Daine was silent for a moment. "That was unfair," she said eventually. "I'm _well_ aware of how much he wants you killed, and how much he wants me. I understand the dangers, but that doesn't mean I have to _like_ any of this." She waved her hands furiously, gesturing to their surroundings. "I never said anything about 'folly' either."

Unbidden, tears had begun to leak from her eyes, and the pressure at the base of her throat began to tighten. "I can't stand this Numair. I can't stand it. I can't even _breathe_ properly any more. It's all just a big cage that I can't get out from. There isn't even any _wind_, because it's all blocked out by these infernal shields of yours! It's all one huge _trap_." She rubbed her hand across her face, furious with herself. Crying wasn't going to help either of them just now.

A hand patted her arm and pushed a handkerchief into her fist. She scrubbed at her face in irritation, feeling thoroughly annoyed at her own show of weakness. The look of pity on Numair's face did little to calm her though, and seemed only to spur her anger on. "They won't let me outside. I'm not even able to tend to the Own's horses, despite the fact I _know_ one of them needs his mouth softened, and another has a sore where his new bridle's been rubbing."

"Have you told them?" Numair's voice was quiet and soft in comparison to the exasperation it had held moments before.

"Of course I have! They still won't let me outside, even though I could have it done in minutes."

Numair sighed tiredly. "I'll have a word with them about allowing you outside, Daine. Otherwise, I'm not sure what there is I can do. I'll try my best, but I'm not making any promises." When her face did not brighten, he added softly, "It won't be for much longer, magelet. George and Raoul are working as hard as they can on this. They wouldn't keep us here any longer than was necessary." With a final sympathetic pat on her arm, he turned their attention back to the model before them. "Now, magelet. Attend."

* * *

She was roughly shaken awake early the following morning. "Master Numair told me to open your windows and wake you," Abigail informed her. "And he said he'd be most displeased if you didn't." 

Yawning widely as she hauled herself upright, she declined to mention that 'Master Numair would be most displeased' if he found out the maid was giving him unnecessary airs and graces again. Instead, she clambered out of bed and ducked behind the changing screen. "Does he want me downstairs?"

"No," Abigail's voice drifted over the screen. "He said it was too early for him to be awake –" Daine snorted at this, "– and that he'd be even _more_ displeased if you woke him. He mentioned something about suspending you by your ankles from Balor's Needle if you did."

"Then what in the name of the Mother does he want me awake for?"

She caught sight of Abigail's face as she emerged fully dressed, and began the process of taming her mane of hair. The woman shrugged at her. "All he told me was to open your windows and push the shutters back."

With one hand still pinning her hair back, Daine crossed the small room to see if that would make the mage's cryptic message any clearer. It was really too early for Daine to be considering dealing with his mysterious riddles, especially after she'd spent most of the night before watching him create the wards for the house. She'd finally given up after she'd fallen asleep for the second time, and left Numair to it.

A gush of air blew across her face and threatened to tear her newly secured hair from its moorings. Daine frowned. She couldn't _see_ anything, but she knew something had changed all the same. She wasn't entirely sure what it was until she saw a small finch swooping towards her window. About to warn the bird about the shield, lest he hurt himself by colliding with it, she stopped in amazement as the bird flew neatly through where the shield should have been, and landed on her windowsill. He chirped happily, before taking off again, circling her room and coming to rest on her shoulder.

Behind her, she heard Abigail make a small noise of disapproval as her companion was quickly followed by others. All flew through her window at a similar angle, and chattered to her excitedly about "holes" and "bats" and "storks." Put together with the sudden realisation that fresh air, real, moving air on her face had not been a normal occurrence for some time, she knew exactly what Numair had done. When she adapted her face to allow for a bat's mouth and ears, her thoughts were confirmed. As solid as the shield appeared, small spaces, large enough to allow for anything up to a small crow to pass through, littered the magical screen around her window, allowing air, and more importantly, animals to pass through. Delighted with her chance to meet with the People again, Daine promptly sat below her windowsill, and allowed her newfound friends to tell her all about events in Corus.

Numair knew his gesture had worked when at lunch that day his student entered the room with a large smile plastered over her face and a collection of various different species of birds clinging to her and following in her wake, obviously to Abigail's displeasure. She hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek, before dropping down into her chair and beginning to break pieces of bread into crumbs. "Why?" she asked as she worked.

A bullfinch transferred from Daine to inspect one of his fingers, before hopping lightly onto his hand. The smile Numair received in response to his answer was thanks enough for the small amount of sleep he'd received the night before, and the tiredness he felt now. "For the wind."

* * *

**Go on, go on, go on go on go on – you know you want to. REVIEW!**


	9. Chapter 8: Immortals and Deities

**Hello folks! I'm now back from my Gaelic-speaking/whisky-drinking trip (there was much done of both!) and I've managed to find a chance to update. I'm warning you now – I'm just beginning to get a rough idea of my workload this year, and it's going to be heavy! Updates should hopefully still be reasonably regular, but I can't promise how often. Sorry!**

**And I've a wee note for Citty: I'm Scottish, so I'm in Europe all the time! ;) My lack of updates has far more to do with being on an intensive language immersion course and return to uni than anything else! (Read for both lack of 24 hour internet connection and insane workload.)**

**Disclaimer: As usual, the characters and settings you recognise belong to Tamora Pierce. The rest is mine!**

* * *

"We'll try the wakeflower first, I think." 

Daine couldn't help but shudder at the thought of the contents of the vial Numair held. The putrid smell it emitted was enough to make her gag, even though she was sitting a distance away. "You have no sense of smell," she muttered.

He ignored her. "Now Kitten," he told the sleeping dragon soberly, "I will be most upset if you don't wake up." He held the bottle under Kitten's muzzle, transferring it from nostril to nostril, but to no avail. After a moment, the mage sighed, stoppering the vial and slipping it into his belt purse. "I suppose that would have been far too easy. I only wish I knew what it was Ozorne used on her."

Daine grimaced, wishing she could be more help. She'd already described what she'd seen in her dreamrose-induced sleep to the King, Numair and the mages at the university, but none had been able to suggest either what the spell had been, or a solution.

"I'd write to Lindhall for advice, but if Ozorne finds we're communicating again, that could lead to serious problems."

"The City of the Gods?" she suggested.

"Jon said he'd requested that some of the Masters be spared to work on it, but he can't pull them all from their work just for Kitten's sake. And we're lacking dreadfully in resources here."

Daine couldn't help but agree. Although the small study was overflowing with books, it didn't compare to Numair's personal collection at either the Palace or his Tower, let alone to the many libraries scattered throughout the Palace and Royal University. Even she had been irritated by the shortfall.

"What's that?" she asked, gesturing to the bundle of papers Numair had gathered by him.

He spared them a glance as he continued his examination of Kitten. "Suggestions and spells from Harailt," he explained. "They arrived this morning. I'm disinclined to _try_ any of them though until I can be sure they won't hurt Kitten, and I won't know that until I can check the sources, which," he finished bitterly, "I don't _have_. I don't even have _The Draconian Codex_."

Daine smiled, finally feeling useful. "Actually, you do."

Numair looked at her sharply. "What?"

"Remember you had the scribes makes a translated copy of it for me? It was ready when we came back."

For what felt like the first time in days, she saw her teacher smile. "What else do you have hidden up there?

* * *

"And you're sure this won't hurt her?" she asked again. 

"I'm sure, Daine." Numair smiled encouragingly. "We'll try it slowly at first, all right?"

Daine nodded, rubbing her hands together before placing them gingerly on Kitten's head. "Ready."

Numair moved his hands to cup her face, his finger tips resting lightly on her temples. Immediately she shifted her breathing, matching it to his. They had done this so many times, as part of an experiment, lesson or demonstration, that it was almost second nature to her.

Concentrating, she pulled her life force towards her, slipping inside the glowing white light. Seconds later she felt his presence join her. Again her view shifted so the pair were swathed in the copper of her wild magic.

_After you_, she felt Numair say.

Clutching a small strand of her fire, she slipped inside the body of the dragonet, leading Numair after her. Together they examined her body and mind thoroughly, searching for any trace of Ozorne's spell. Finally they hit a glimmering emerald wall, beyond which they could see the sparkling gold of Kitten's life force.

_This is it_, Numair said. Carefully they examined it, Numair studying the runes that were etched along it with care. _I can break it_, he told her confidently. Sparkling black and white symbols appeared along the wall, and for a moment, nothing seemed to happen.

Suddenly, from nowhere, an angry buzzing filled Daine's head. _Is it meant to do that?_

She could feel his answering frown. _No_.

Abruptly there was a loud snap, and the pair were expelled from the dragon's body. Immediately returned to consciousness, she snatched her hands, suddenly hot, from Kitten's head. "You said it wouldn't hurt her!" she accused.

She could see the confusion in Numair's eyes. "Go back," he told her urgently. As if to emphasise his point, he grabbed her hands and placed them back on the dragon, holding them in place with one of his whilst the other returned to her face. "Now!"

The order in his voice was enough to make her jump to comply. Immediately she closed her eyes and found herself back inside the dragon, Numair by her side. He raced ahead of her through Kitten's veins to the location of the wall.

It had now vanished, and Daine could see Kitten's life force clearly once more. Between it and them, however, was a thick green liquid-like substance. Pushing towards it was like wading through porridge. _It's no use_, she told her teacher. _We'll never make it through_.

_Let me try one more thing_, came his reply.

_Haven't you done enough?_ she snapped. He was silent for a moment, before she apologised. _I'm sorry Numair_.

_I understand_, he told her, although he sounded dejected. _It's hard, but I'm doing the best I can_.

_Try it_.

He didn't wait to question her, and merely started his spell. She watched as his magic filled the space, covering Ozorne's spell entirely in an attempt to scorch it from its hold on the dragon. It only seemed to worsen the situation though, as the emerald magic started to entwine with the immortal's life force.

A familiar illuminated shadow began to encircle the ball of light, pushing back the grasping green tendrils. As Daine watched, sparkling runes and symbols appeared across its surface, some of which she recognised as signs of protection. Taking her own strand of magic, she wove it under Ozorne's spell, attempting to shield the dragon from it.

When she opened her eyes, Numair was gasping for breath next to her. His face was sweat-soaked, and his hands, still clasped around her face, were trembling.

"Are you all right?" he murmured. "Is she all right? Tell me she's all right."

Daine nodded. "I can't _feel_ anything wrong with her. She doesn't feel any different to before. Just the spell. The spell feels different to me."

Numair nodded. "As long as we haven't hurt her." He shook his head in frustration, dropping his hands from her face to stroke Kitten's muzzle. "I don't understand! The spell was simple enough to break. I've never seen anything like that before. It must have been his own form of insurance, in case he wasn't the one to break the spell. So that if we escaped, we wouldn't be able to wake her without difficulty. Without research."

"Without books."

"Exactly." He groaned, rubbing a hand roughly over one eye, and then his forehead. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more, Daine."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. I just miss her, is all. I know it'll be worse when we do find a way, because then she won't be here at all, but at least she's awake."

Numair nodded. "We won't be long behind her though, Daine. We won't have to stay here for much longer. I'm sure of it."

* * *

Daine opened her eyes to find her room lit by an unearthly glow. She identified the owner of the arm pulling her upwards by the unusual tattoo it bore around its wrist: interwoven lines that even in this gloomy light reminded Daine of snakes. 

"Oh Goddess," she muttered. "Tell me I'm dreaming."

The Graveyard Hag cackled. "No such luck, dearie. I've been wanting a word with you," she told the girl sternly. "You didn't do what I wanted you to."

"I was interrupted," Daine said warily. She wasn't sure whether the goddess was here for some sort of retribution or recompense for her unfinished task, and she didn't particularly want to find out, either.

To her relief, the goddess laughed, and took a seat on Daine's bed, resting her gnarled cane against her knee.

"What's wrong with the dragon?" the Hag asked. Daine jumped at the abrupt change of topic. "She's suspiciously quiet. Usually when we meet she scolds me like only a dragon would dare."

Daine glanced down at the curled form of Kitten, who had been resting on Daine's pillow in the week since their failed attempts at breaking Ozorne's spell. "Ozorne spelled her asleep when he kidnapped me." Automatically she reached down and ran her thumb along the ridge of the dragon's back. "We've been trying to find a way of breaking it, short of killing Ozorne, which we can't do from in here. Numair's been researching and writing spells, and the mages at the university have been studying too, but we haven't managed so far."

"Hmm." The Hag was silent for a moment, clearly contemplating something. Suddenly she reached out and put her hand on the dragonet's head. A silver glow rushed below the dragon's scales, and Daine felt a rush of warmth under her hand, then the systematic stirring of muscles.

She looked up at the goddess in shock. "You broke the spell?"

The goddess nodded. "Unforeseen effect," she said curtly. "Certain things weren't meant to happen that night."

"Like my being kidnapped?"

"Very," the Hag agreed. "Can't leave you mortals alone for a minute, can we?"

Daine bit her lip, choosing her words carefully. "Are there other 'unforeseen effects' of that trip you can fix?"

The goddess scrutinized her face closely. "You mean your handsome friend's leg?" Daine nodded silently, her thumb still stroking up and down Kitten's back as she felt the dragon slowly break back through the spell and into consciousness. The Hag shook her head. "I told you, we have rules. Ozorne made his choices, and so did Salmalín. I can't change history." This was the closest to remorseful Daine thought she had ever heard the goddess.

"But you woke Kitten." The dragon in question cheeped quietly as she stirred. Daine pulled her into her lap.

The Hag eyed her sharply. "I can't correct every human folly caused that night. The path of history has already been set, and I can't reverse it now. Just because I'm a goddess, it doesn't mean I can change the choices of human and the course of time. Only mortals can choose their own fate."

"Then why break Ozorne's spell? Surely that's breaking your own rules."

"I can put the spell back in place just as easily," the Hag snapped. Daine shut her mouth quickly, biting her lip to keep herself from saying anything more. "If I'd gone back, and left the dragon asleep, certain dragons would have chewed my ear off."

"You mean her family?"

The goddess eyed the sleepy bundle closely as she nodded. "As it was, certain people wanted me to come down here as it was."

"You mean the badger?" Daine grinned.

"And others."

Kitten chose that moment to sit up suddenly and chirp, preventing Daine from querying the goddess's cryptic answer. She hugged the dragonet to her closely, listening to her stream of confused chatter and answering it as best she could. "We escaped," she told her charge softly. At another enquiring chirp, she replied, "We're home. Well, as close as we can be." Softly she explained their situation to the dragon.

Her explanation was met by a stream of angry whistles and a red flush from the dragon. Waiting until she had finished, she said, "I don't like it much either, you know. Go and speak to Numair about it. He agreed to it." As the dragon got off the bed, obviously intending to do just that, Daine remembered something. "Be careful with his leg, Kit. It's injured pretty bad. Don't go poking it." Kitten voiced an indignant whistle, an angry _as if I would_, which told Daine exactly what the dragonet thought of her warning. Daine grinned. "And leave him be until morning, too. He won't thank you for waking him, even if he _has_ missed you."

There was another softer whistle as the dragon left the room, closing the door behind her. Daine let her smile fade. "I'm surprised you came back."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I can't see it being to your advantage," she told the goddess frankly. "Besides, I didn't manage what you wanted."

"I don't abandon my vessels," the Hag said sharply. She glared at Daine. "Just because you didn't overthrow Ozorne when I wanted you to, dearie, doesn't mean I'm done with you yet. Besides," she added, shrugging good-naturedly, "so far you've done the opposite from what I've wanted. I suppose you'll keep doing that until you're finished," she cackled.

Daine glanced down at the sheets, fidgeting with them. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop him." For all her dislike of the Hag, she felt she should at least apologise for not completing her task.

The Hag grinned, and Daine shivered involuntarily. "You'll get your chance. Give me your hand," she ordered. "I think you'd prefer it if I took my little gift back."

"Feel free," Daine told her. For a moment nothing seemed to happen, then Daine saw a silver bolt transfer from her hand to the goddess' and felt her body jolt with the shock. Suddenly she felt very weak and tired.

"Until next time, Weiryn's daughter."

Daine nodded, sinking back into the pillows, already half-asleep as the Hag vanished. Who, or what, was Weiryn?

* * *

When Daine opened her eyes next, it was to the golden light of late afternoon, in a bed that was not her own. Slowly she pushed herself upwards. This action was greeted by the noise of claws galloping across wood and the arrival of sudden weight on her arm, accompanied by a gleeful screech. 

"Careful, Kitten." Numair's voice came from across the room. He was seated at the table in his room, a book propped up in his hands. "How are you feeling, Daine?"

Daine glanced around. "I'm all right. What am I doing in your room?"

"When you wouldn't wake, Abigail became worried. I had them set up a camp bed for you in here so I could keep an eye on you. What happened?"

"The Hag came."

Concern flashed across Numair's face. "She did?" He rose to his feet and began crossing the room, leaning heavily on his cane. "What did she say? The first I knew was that Kitten was sitting next to me when I woke, and you never came to breakfast."

She quickly related the Hags words to him, waiting until he had taken his place in the chair that was next to her bed before she asked, "How long was I asleep?"

Numair smiled. "Let's just say it was the longest lie-in you've had in a while." She raised a questioning eyebrow. "You were asleep nearly two days."

"Two days!" Numair nodded confirmation. "Well," Daine managed.

"Kitten wasn't worried about you, so I didn't have any real concern. A healer checked you over and couldn't find anything wrong, so I knew you were all right." Daine raised a brow again and he blushed. "Well, I didn't worry too much. Did she take back her magic?"

"Thankfully."

Numair nodded, but Daine knew him to well not too sense the vague air of disappointment that surrounded him.

"You wanted to experiment with it!" she accused.

Numair had the grace to blush and look down at his hands. "Well, it would have been an interesting study on the properties of the magic, and the transfer of divine powers to mortal beings."

"Haven't you written enough 'interesting studies' about me?"

"There's always one more," he told her, perfectly seriously, although he was smiling widely. He glanced down at the dragon. "Kitten, I'm sure Daine's hungry. Will you fetch Abigail for me?"

The dragon made an obliging noise and clambered down from the bed before disappearing through the door.

Numair looked up at Daine and took hold of one of her hands. "What's on your mind magelet?"

Daine glanced towards the door. "Can we talk after I've eaten? Only I don't want any interruptions."

Numair looked curious at her request, but nodded nonetheless. "Whenever you're ready, Daine." He squeezed her hand tightly, but fell silent when Abigail came through, other than to request food for Daine. He was even silent whilst Daine ate, apparently lost in contemplation. Finally, Daine pushed her plate aside. The mage didn't appear to be paying attention to her. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the empty fireplace on the opposite side of the room, his hand rhythmically moving along Kitten's spine.

"Numair, who's Weiryn?"

This was obviously not the question Numair had been expecting. His head snapped to face her, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Why do you ask?"

"The Hag mentioned him." She decided not to mention that the goddess had called her 'Weiryn's daughter' before she knew exactly who Weiryn was. "I'm sure I've heard of him, I just can't place where from."

Numair rubbed the side of his head. "The only Weiryn I've heard of is a god." He paused for a moment, pulling his nose. "A hunt-god, I think, of the mountain areas."

She frowned, remembering. "I think Tait mentioned him in Dunlath. He made oaths to him."

Numair nodded. "That sounds about right. His range covers mainly the mountain regions of Tortall, in the north-west, south-western Scanra, and –"

"Snowsdale," Daine interrupted.

"I suppose so, yes. There's a study of gods and goddesses in the library; we could look at that later if you like?"

Daine pushed herself out of bed. "I'd like to now, if you don't mind." Kitten whistled at her concernedly. "I'm fine Kit," she promised.

Numair frowned. "I think I have to agree with Kitten, Daine. Rest a while longer. The book won't go anywhere."

"Please, Numair, now." She tried to keep the begging tone from her voice.

The mage sighed heavily before conceding. "All right. Come on magelet." The man stood slowly, and leaned on his cane, wincing when his foot brushed the ground.

Daine bit her lip for a second, before asking quietly, "Do you want a hand?"

"No," he replied sharply, before sighing. "What I really need is a foot," he said more gently. "Please, Daine."

She looped her arm around Numair's waist, feeling his arm come to rest around her shoulders and his body lean on hers. "Ready?" she asked, looking up into his face with a smile.

"Mm," he said tightly, his face closed.

If his arm hadn't been around her shoulders, Daine would have shrugged; she had quickly come to recognise that Numair didn't like having to ask for help, and even less liked to be offered it, especially by her. All she could do was wait for his mood to pass; she didn't even know if he realised he did it. Slowly they made their way through to the library, Kitten leading the way with Numair's cane in her paw. The mage slithered out of her grip and dropped into his chair heavily, not looking at Daine as she began to scan the spines of the books for one that sounded a likely title.

"It's called _The_ _Pantheon_: _A Detailed Examination of –_"

"– _The Deities in the forms in which they are Worshipped in the Eastern and Southern Lands_," Daine finished, lifting a heavy volume from the top shelf. "You academics can't even be brief about your titles, can you?"

"It's fairly concise really. Why be short and indescriptive about them and long-winded the rest of the way through?" Numair enquired lightly as the tome was deposited on the table in front of him. He flipped open the leather bound cover, and began to scan the pages before him. "They're arranged alphabetically, and then cross-referenced with geographical location, and with what aspect they are entrusted with. What they're worshipped for," he translated softly. Daine pulled a chair round to sit next to his, watching as he searched through the pages for the entry he was looking for as she accommodated for Kitten on her lap. "Here," he said triumphantly. "This is your Weiryn."

Daine wondered if Numair realised how accurate his words might be as he pushed the book towards her. She ran her fingers over the parchment, settling them just below an illustration of the god. She studied the picture, the shock of memory washing over her. "I've seen him before."

"You have?" Numair sounded puzzled. "When?"

"Different times. When I've died. The first time, on the beach on the way to the Swoop, you remember. He was with my Ma at a cottage, but he never spoke to me. And when I was in Carthak –"

"You _died_ in _Carthak_? When? Why didn't you tell me?" Numair demanded. Kitten whistled reproachfully.

"In the Hall of Bones at night. I had a dream with the Hag and when I woke, I was in the Hall with Kitten. I fell on a mountain runner's nest, hatched all the eggs, and died because it used all my energy. And I didn't tell you, because the next morning I was kidnapped by Ozorne, the peace talks collapsed, and I had to escape. In between all that, I hardly had the time."

"Oh," Numair muttered ruefully. "Did he say anything?"

Daine frowned, trying to remember. "He was having an argument with the badger, I think, about the Hag using me in her plans. The badger said if he was so interested in raising me, he shouldn't have left him to do the job instead." She stopped, and giggled suddenly. "He called him a 'horn-headed idiot'."

Numair frowned. "Are you feeling quite all right, magelet? Maybe you should rest some more."

"I'm fine," she told him exasperatedly, scratching Kitten behind an ear. "I asked the badger if he was… if he was my Da."

"And the badger said yes?" Numair placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She nodded, head down. "Well," Numair said brusquely, clearly deciding the best option was practicality. "It certainly would explain a lot about you and your magic."

Daine sniffed. "And why I don't look like anyone in Snowsdale."

Numair hesitated, before asking, "What _does_ he look like, if you don't mind me asking? Is the picture accurate?"

She shook her head, studying the picture. "He only wore a loincloth, and he had tanned skin, like this," she said, gesturing to the picture, "except with more green in it."

"Green?"

"Green," she confirmed. "And his eyes were too. It's probably good camouflage, when he's hunting. He _does_ have antlers, though," she said doubtfully, "I'm not sure he's as tall as you without them." The mage grinned. "And hair like mine," she added, eyeing a loose strand with distaste.

Numair patted her shoulder, before crossing his hands in his lap. "Why didn't you mention it?" he asked gently.

Daine shrugged. Why hadn't she? "I suppose it's fair strange, to find your Da is a god. What with everything that happened after, I suppose I didn't really think much about it. To be honest, I've been trying _not_ to think about it."

Numair murmured sympathetically. "It's understandable, Daine. You've been through enough these past weeks. Well," he stretched, "the way I see it is that you have two options. One, you can keep not thinking about it, even though you and I both know you've been wanting to know who your father is for years, or two, you and I can do a little research."

"Research, I suppose."

"That's a girl. Try not to sound so resigned about it. You _enjoy_ reading, remember?"

"It's different when you're researching family members you've only just discovered," Daine told him. "Especially ones that happen to be divine that your mother never mentioned," she muttered to herself. Placing Kitten on her chair, she fetched two quills, ink, and several sheets of parchment. "Shift Kit," she told the dragon when she returned to her chair. Kitten squawked indignantly and muttered as she clambered onto the table.

Numair grinned. "I've missed you, Kitten." He reached over and scratched the dragon under her muzzle, who in return, flushed deep blue with pleasure and crooned at the man, making the few opals he wore sparkle.

Daine rolled her eyes at the pair and sat down. "And he'll spoil you stupid before the King finds out you're awake and takes you away."

Kitten screeched loudly, and Numair sighed. "I did explain you couldn't stay, Kitten. Jon'll have my guts for a flag on Balor's Needle because I haven't told him already as it is. I don't think we can keep this to ourselves beyond the next time Abigail goes out. I'm amazed we managed to keep you hidden whilst the healer was in for Daine. Besides, you wouldn't like it here."

Daine nodded, her eyes sad as she watched Kitten turn a dull grey. "We have to stay inside all the time and we can't go out. At least that way you'll be allowed to go where you like, and you'll be with Tkaa and Cloud." Daine was beginning to think this was one of the few times she had been envious of the dragon, who would soon be outside and with their friends. "If you're lucky, you might even go to the Swoop."

Numair grimaced sympathetically as he stroked Kitten. "Until then though, Daine's right." At the dragon's enquiring chirp, he added, "We'll just have to spoil you rotten. I know a nice maid who makes very good potatoes." As the dragon's discontented muttering subsided, he pulled her into his lap, and slid a sheet of parchment from Daine's bundle. "Now," he said, glancing at Daine as he inked his quill, "do you remember much else about Weiryn? That you've heard or seen? We can always check details later."

Daine rubbed her face, considering. "The Hag called me 'Weiryn's daughter'."

"Then that would confirm our theory, or at least support it strongly," Numair said, as he began scribbling notes on his parchment. Daine craned to see what he wrote, but reading his writing was normally task enough without deciphering it from an angle. "What else?"

"I'm sure I asked Tait about him." Numair murmured encouragingly as he underlined something. "I asked him who Weiryn was, because he kept mentioning him, and I'd never heard of him. You weren't there to ask," she shrugged. "He said something about him having antlers, which he does, and at Beltane he can cross between the realms with his hounds."

"That would correspond with what we know already," Numair muttered. "Minor gods and goddesses only have enough power to pass from Divine to Mortal Realm at the festivals, when their power is at its height. You said your mother told you that she met your father at Beltane in the forest, correct?"

Daine nodded, taking a deep breath before she continued. "Tait said something else too. He said that Weiryn was –" she broke off, trying to remember the exact words, but it had been almost a year ago.

"Take your time, Daine," Numair murmured softly. "You'll remember it." He reached a hand down to scratch Kitten in his lap, his eyes intent on Daine's face as he waited for her.

"He said he was like kin, I think, to all the animals. 'Kin to all that walks or swims or flies'," she recited triumphantly.

Numair scribbled another note, murmuring snatches of information to himself softly. His quill hovering over the page, he scanned his notes, adding in small symbols and words here and there, before looking up at Daine. "You realise what this means of course, Daine?"

"That he's my father?"

"Well yes," he said, waving that assumption away. "It certainly proves your heritage. No less than two gods have told you so, as have the Banjiku. It also provides a source and explanation for your magic. Before I met you, I'd never met a human so full of wild magic, and I doubt very much that I ever will again. Some have enough to communicate, yes, or maybe even to heal, but not in quantity or quality such as yours. But then," he added softly, "you're not entirely human, are you?"

Daine blinked. "Nonsense! How could I not be?"

"Daine, what have I taught you of gods and goddesses? Normally, when a man and a woman, or any other animal, mate, the child takes some of both the mother and the father's aspects. Simply said, the child has half their mother's blood, and half their fathers. The same happens when a god mates with a mortal female. The difference is that his blood will be immortal, so the child will be half-divine."

"A demi-god," Daine supplied automatically.

"Exactly," Numair smiled, looking pleased. "Or in your case, a demi-goddess."

Daine sank back in her chair. There was so much for her to take in. "So that makes me different?"

"Not really," Numair replied. "You're still you. You're still Daine, and you're still a magelet."

She smiled, but she knew it was more for his benefit than hers.

"It doesn't change you, you know. Just because you know who your father is, doesn't mean you're a different person now."

"But you said I wasn't human."

Numair sighed. "That was only to make a point," he told her. He placed a gentle hand on her back, rubbing it softly.

"I could change my name," she pointed out.

"You could," Numair agreed, "but would you want to?"

She shrugged. "Not really. I've been Sarrasri all my life, as much as I hate it. What would I be, anyway?"

"According to your naming traditions, you would be Weirynsra, I suppose."

"Daine Weirynsra," she tried out, wondering how the name sounded from her own tongue. "Veralidaine Weirynsra." She glanced up at Numair. "I don't like it. I don't understand how you managed to change names after so long with one."

Numair made a face. "I've explained before, Arram Draper is hardly a suitable mage's name." More seriously, he said, "It's amazing what you can manage out of necessity. Besides, I've grown into it really. Arram was different to Numair. Numair is a better person."

She smiled. "For all it's worth, I'm glad I know Numair."

Numair smiled warmly at her. "That, magelet, is worth a lot." He patted her hand, before drawing the book closer to him. "What else would you like to know?"

"Whatever else we can find, I suppose."

Numair smiled. "Not all people would be so interested in finding out all they could about their estranged fathers, you know."

"Not all people's mother lied to them about their father." Daine couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice. There was no way her mother couldn't have known who he was. Why wouldn't she have _told_ her? She had taught her so much else in life, why not about her father? Knowing, actually _knowing_ who her father was would have saved her so much time earlier on, when she and Numair were discovering her magic together. It would have saved her so much pain, and stopped the people of Snowsdale from shunning her and her mother. Well, she amended, it would have made it easier to bear, anyway. And she might have met her father already, instead of spending years wondering and speculating on who he might be. She might not have had to borne the name she did. She could have been Weirynsra all her life instead of a bastard. Instead of being a fatherless child and living with all the stigma that implied.

Numair's voice, when it came, was gentle. "She might not have lied, you know."

"No, she just put it off," Daine snapped. "She put it off and put it off until it was too late."

Numair sighed. "Have you ever thought your ma didn't _know_ what he was?"

Daine shook her head roughly. "No, she knew. She always knew who he was, and she always acted as if he wasn't that far away, either."

"Maybe he wasn't, Daine. He could have been watching you."

"He hasn't done much in the way of fathering so far," she pointed out. "He got the badger to look in on me, instead of doing it himself. Besides, he has antlers. She couldn't have missed _those_."

"I suppose not," Numair said quietly. He pulled the large volume back towards him, clearly having decided that the best way to change the subject was to return to study.

Daine shook her head slightly, despairing at the academics' mind. If it couldn't be solved by a book, it couldn't be solved.


	10. Chapter 9: At the Whims of Monarchs

**Um, little bit later than promised, but better late than never, right?**

**Citty, it's fine. It gave me a good giggle though, which was exactly what I needed then, because otherwise I think I was about to tear my hair out! Thank you! And thank you to all my other reviewers as well. I'm feeling so guilty for not updating faster, lol!**

**Usual Disclaimers, as always. If you recognise something, it's Tamora Pierce's creation. If you don't, then it's most likely mine!**

**Chapter 9**

* * *

Daine wiped a hand roughly over her eyes and tightened her arms around the dragonet. "I'll miss you Kit," she whispered in the immortal's ear.

Her words were greeted by a mournful whistle from the dragon. So far, Kitten had done everything she possibly could in order to avoid having to leave the house, from hiding to digging her claws into the floorboards, walls and furniture. Numair was standing by the door, his walking stick leaning on the wall beside him, arms crossed as he surveyed the scene. Kitten had also managed to shred one of his shoes in the process, but the mage hadn't even found it in himself to be angry with her. Daine knew that he too would miss the small dragon, probably almost as much as her. She had caught him talking to Kitten more as he would to a human than an animal more than once, and especially in the past few days. It was one of the things that made Daine wonder about her teacher; she never knew exactly what he was thinking, especially since their return from Carthak. There always seemed to be something that was just out of her reach.

Now she stood up, crossing the room to hand Kitten to the mage. His face seemed pale to her, and she was almost certain that when she looked into his eyes, they were far brighter than they normally were. He dropped her gaze quickly, taking the small dragon easily into his arms and resting her against his chest, her head leaning on his shoulder. She sniffed lethargically at his eardrop, before cheeping morosely.

"I know, Kitten, I know," Numair murmured soothingly in her ear. "It won't be for long, though. We'll be back in the Palace before you know it, and then you'll see so much of us you'll be sick of us." Kitten whistled a question and Numair murmured his assurances to her. "Soon, very soon," he promised. "And Alanna said she'd take you to the Swoop to see the children, and I'm sure they'll be more than happy to see you in the nursery at the Palace. Remember too that you'll be staying with Tkaa, and I'm sure he'll keep you far more entertained than Daine or I ever could."

He hugged the dragonet tightly, before saying a few final words to her. "Remember and behave, all right? No exploding things unless called for, no biting people, and no unlocking doors that are intended to remain closed." He tapped her nose gently with the last words, and then kissed her muzzle. Kitten whistled indignantly at him, and his face broke into a smile.

"Drum and Raoul are here," Daine said, tilting her head to one side. Numair handed her Kitten again, and then, with the aid of his walking stick, crossed the room to the model of the shield that guarded the house. Daine and the dragonet watched with interest as Numair sketched a small rune over the entrance to the courtyard and then swirled his finger in the magical dome to create a hole.

"Tell them to come inside please," he told her.

Daine relayed the request, and went to wait in the kitchen as Numair reformed the shield. As usual, Abigail was bustling around the kitchen in preparation for their guests, and as soon as Numair entered the room, began to make a fuss of him. Through the open door beyond, Daine could see the arrival of the large knight and the small squad of men that had joined him on this trip; those that would replace the men who had been stationed in Golden Wood for the last fortnight. She smiled when she recognised Graham's length of brown hair scraped back into a rough horsetail, but let the expression drop when the redhead who was chatting animatedly with Lord Raoul turned around. Lachann was back.

Kitten's worried whistling obviously succeeding in bringing Numair's attention away from the maid and back to Daine. "Are you all right, Daine?"

"What?" she said, turning round, her angry glare dragged away from the man outside. Numair repeated the question. "Yes," she murmured. "I'm fine." She tightened her arms around Kitten as she said, "I'll just miss her, is all," she lied, although truthfully. "I've only just gotten her back, and now she's being made to leave again."

Numair raised an eyebrow, but nodded all the same. He couldn't fault her on that statement, but knowing him as she did, she could almost see his mind working. He flicked his eyes away from her as Sir Raoul entered the kitchen.

"Numair, Daine," he greeted them. "How are you both?" As they replied with the standard returns, Daine let her mind wonder, ignoring most of the news of the outside world that Raoul brought with him. Much of it seemed to be Court gossip anyway; the more important details would be shared behind locked and sealed doors later.

She realised, of course, that if she had been so upset by Lachann's behaviour the last time he had been here then she should have complained. Otherwise, she wouldn't be in this situation now. Spending a fortnight in close quarters with a man who had insulted not only her, but Numair's integrity, did not seem appealing to her, but there was little she could do now the man was here. Daine would just have to make sure that she stayed out of his way, and hopefully he would stay out of hers as well, but there seemed little chance of that in a house a small as Golden Wood was.

She made a face as the man in question entered the building, nodding a greeting to them all. He offered her a small smile, which she met with a scowl until she caught sight of Numair's frown.

"Your horse has picked up a stone," she told him before turning her attention back to stroking Kitten, carefully avoiding Numair's stare which she felt burning into her.

Lachann stopped in front of the table. "Are you sure, Lady Daine? I've only just finished grooming Sweetbrier."

"Sweetbrier?" Numair asked with a grin.

"I've heard her grumbling about it since Market Street," Daine interrupted.

"She's a lovely horse, but she has a prickly temperament," Lachann responded with a grin.

"Especially with a stone firmly embedded in her hoof," she put in.

"You heard the Horsemistress," Raoul cut off Lachann's reply. "You had better attend to your mount, and quickly, or I'll send her out there to harry you along."

"And we wouldn't want that," the soldier grinned, before giving a lazy salute and leaving.

She was very aware of Raoul and Numair exchanging glances over her head, but she ignored them as Numair, leaning on Raoul, led the way through to the study. Taking his normal seat, his leg stretched out and resting on a pile of books, Numair waited until Abigail had finished serving them and left before letting his magic fill the room and turning to Raoul. "What news have you brought us?"

Raoul sighed. "Not much that is good, if I'm honest. The borders aren't officially closed for war yet, but I don't think they'll reopen with the spring melts."

"So war in the spring then," Numair murmured.

"Almost certainly," Raoul nodded. "We've tried communication with Ozorne, but all of our envoys and treats have been rejected or ignored. Even if we _can_ convince him to come to some sort of peace covenant with us, I'm not so sure he won't push Jon for everything he can get out of this country because he knows just how much we need this. We're struggling to persuade our more traditional allies to side with us when the war comes as well. Partly it's fear that Ozorne will come down as hard on them as we think he will on us, and partly it's a reluctance to commit men and resources to a war that isn't theirs."

Kitten voiced an angry whistle. "It isn't theirs yet," Numair agreed. "If they think Ozorne will stop at our borders, they're sorely mistaken."

Raoul nodded. "Trying to convince them of that is where the problem lies. _We_ know that if he manages to take us, it won't take him long to turn his eyes to the rich farms of Galla and Maren, or the trading links of Tyra. Carthak needs fertile farms, and that's exactly what they have."

"And what of the Stormwings?" Numair enquired. "Will they ally with us?"

"From what Queen Barzha has said, it sounds as if they will. Ozorne seems to have managed to make true enemies of them at least." The knight sighed. "We'll need all the help we can get, of course, but we just don't know how much we can trust them."

"Rikash, Barzha and Hebakh helped us escape Ozorne," Daine reminded him. "They were betrayed by him too, and by other Stormwings. There's a chance they could bring other immortals around to our side as well."

"There is," Raoul agreed slowly. "But remember, Daine, this time last year you were fighting against Rikash in Dunlath."

"He was in your bow sight more than once," Numair added.

"And he carried you from the Imperial Palace halfway into the Inland Sea without even being asked!" she defended.

"I know," Numair said soothingly, "but you told me it was because I inadvertently freed Barzha and Hebakh."

Daine dismissed that with an angry shake of the head. "Remember what he thinks of Maura. He won't let anything happen to her, or her home. Rikash in the least will come to our side, if not the rest of Stone Tree as well. The only reason he was with Tristan and Yolane in Dunlath was because Ozorne had Barzha and Hebakh in his cursed menagerie, and Jokhun had told Stone Tree Nation they were dead."

Raoul sighed. "Until we can be assured of their loyalty, it's not something the lowly people like us have to worry about. We have the plenty with the more normal matters to deal with."

"And how is the quest to find our mysterious shadows?" Numair asked genially. If Daine hadn't known better, she'd have thought he was asking after the health of a favourite aunt.

"So you do remember that you're in hiding, then?" His mocking tone changed when he paused, then sighed heavily. "We've caught four. George is – _requesting_ – further information from them, but until we're sure you're safe, you aren't leaving."

"He'll just keep sending more until it all spills into the open or the matter's dealt with," Numair told him.

"And all the same, his majesty has requested that you stay as you are until he instructs otherwise, because you're here to prevent that 'matter' from being 'dealt with' at all. In other words, you're stuck here until Jon decides differently. Isn't it fun to be at the whim of a monarch? Two, if you count Ozorne."

"Positively delightful," Numair muttered with a dark scowl.

Raoul grinned. "Speaking of your incarceration, I have to remind you of a few rules." He refilled his mug from the pitcher of juice. "I heard about your method of creating shields. That little venture of yours is not to be repeated, I don't care what for. On no account are you to leave the house unaccompanied. Unless under direct attack, you will remain within the shield, and preferably indoors." At this last, Raoul glanced at Daine. "No matter what shape you are in, and" here his glare transferred to Numair, "no matter how strong the protecting shield is. Understand?" They nodded meekly. "Good. Allowances can be made; Daine, if you want to practice your archery, we can take the horses out of the stable for an hour or so at a time and set up some targets for you in there. Numair, Alanna tells me you should be walking more by now, and at times without your crutch, and that you're to be allowed an hour around the garden everyday, accompanied by a guard or Abigail, _not_ by Daine." At this, Daine sighed heavily and glared at the mage.

He raised an eyebrow at her and gestured at his leg. "I'd swap gladly with you magelet, but I wouldn't wish this on anyone."

Raoul continued as if uninterrupted. "All notes are to be passed through Abigail, unless it is an emergency, and then we can risk messenger birds. Too many coming to the one location would be notable of course, which is why we're relying on human communication for the moment. And you remember why I'm here."

Daine's arms tightened involuntarily around Kitten, who turned her face away from the table and buried her head under Daine's arm.

"We remember," Numair said softly. "We were hardly likely to forget."

"No," Raoul agreed.

"Do you have to leave right now?"

"As soon as Ùisdean has given me his report as the departing Captain," Raoul answered Daine's soft question. "Another quarter of a bell, a half maybe." The big man could not keep the sympathy from his dark eyes. "I'll leave you to say your goodbyes until then."

* * *

As the horse carrying the pack that Kitten was safely concealed inside disappeared from the view of the doorway, Daine roughly wiped her eyes and blew her nose on the handkerchief Numair had supplied.

"It won't be for long, Daine," he reminded her, his hand coming to rest gently on her shoulders.

"You keep saying that," she retorted miserably. "You say it won't be long, and I hope it won't be, but we're still here."

She felt his arm slip around her and give her a tight squeeze. "And we'll be back with her before you know it. Come on, magelet. I need to seal the shield, and I want a word with you as well."

* * *

"Did he do anything in particular to annoy you, or was it just a matter of not caring for his horse correctly?"

"What?" Daine's head jumped up at Numair's amused question. They had taken up residence in the library, and Daine was attempting to eat her supper, although feeling less and less hungry by the minute, whilst Numair was reading. Or so she had thought, anyway.

"The member of the Own out there that you seem to have taken an aversion to for no apparent reason. Lachann, I think?" Apparently he was paying more attention to her than she had realised.

"Just the horse."

Numair chuckled, much to her frustration. "I know you better than that, magelet. You stopped randomly directing your fury at people a long time ago. What did he to deserve your wrath?"

She glared at him, before telling him exactly what Lachann had done to anger her. To her annoyance, Numair only laughed. "Daine, how many times have people thought that about us? It's only through their own ignorance that they can't appreciate the actual dynamic of our relationship."

Daine gaped at him. "You've changed your tune! Not two months ago, you tried to hit the _Emperor_ of Carthak for suggesting exactly the same thing Lachann did. You would've done but for his Gift!"

Numair grimaced. "It's a very different matter when your enemy believes and insinuates something like that to when a member of the Own does it."

"You mean that when Ozorne insults you, you have to react, but when it's anyone else, it doesn't matter."

"Something like that, yes." He rubbed a hand over his face. "If you were so unhappy with the situation, you should have said."

"I've realised that," she told him. "And there's not much we can do now, either. I know."

"It sounds as if he's learned his lesson now, anyway. The best thing you can probably do is forget about it," he advised her. "He even sounded as if he was sorry about it." He shook his head at her, before giving her a knowing smile. "I think you've probably made him suffer enough now."

"He wasn't the one with the stone in his hoof."

"No, but reprimanding him in front of his commanding officer is embarrassment enough for anyone, not to mention the awkwardness of coming back here after the mistake he made, and especially knowing that you'd probably have told or would tell me about it."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm not out to save him the embarrassment of telling him what he missed in front of Raoul. If you ask me, he deserved it for not checking his horse's hooves when he groomed her; it's hardly a sign of good horsemanship. Any member of the Own that cares for their mounts like that deserves to be told off. He'd get in serious trouble for that in the Riders! I wasn't going to wait until after Raoul had left to do it either. It wouldn't have been fair on Sweetbrier."

"Of course it wouldn't," Numair murmured before smiling again, infuriatingly, and shaking his head. "He's made an impression on you though, and you've certainly made one on him."

"What's that meant to mean?" she spluttered.

Numair just shrugged knowingly and sighed exasperatingly. "We'll see magelet. We'll see."

* * *

Three days later, Daine rifled through the final drawer in the dresser, looking for the particular vial Numair had requested. Amongst the collection of small bottles, she came across a heavy leather pouch. Knowing Numair's ability to put very different things in with one another and call it order, she loosened the strings around its neck. Pulling out several vials, she found the one she was searching for with a small noise of triumph, and was about to replace those she didn't need when something at the bottom of the pouch caught her eye. Placing the vials down on the dresser in front of her, she studied its contents more closely. The small amber drop which had caught her eye was sitting in the bottom, cradled in a curl of brown hair. _Her_ brown hair she realised on further examination.

What in the name of Shakith was Numair doing with a lock of her hair?

Deciding to ask him exactly that, she placed the miscellaneous vials back in the pouch and carried them through to the study, where Numair was sitting happily in his chair, his leg stretched out to one side, propped on a stool and resting on a cushion. He lifted his head from the book he was skimming through.

"Did you find the Frankincense oil? There's an interesting reference here for mixing it with myrrh for its healing qualities. I thought perhaps using a combination of that with the aloe –"

Daine decided to stop him before he got into his stride. "It's in here," she said, placing the pouch on the table.

"Good, thanks." He pulled the bottle out of the bag, then, with a sudden double-take, glanced back into the bag and up at Daine. "Ah," he said.

"Why do you have bits of my hair in there? And when on earth did you get it?"

Numair straightened in his seat, not at all phased by her questions, as if they were perfectly ordinary. "You remember I told you I made some simple mistakes in Carthak?" Daine nodded curtly. "Well, out of my many contingency plans, there was a simple solution that I might have – overlooked. You remember our lessons on focus magic?"

"A charm on an object belonging to the subject of the spell in possession of the caster, or belonging to the caster and in possession of the subject, placed through simple binding magic" she recited. "It's dangerous magic. It can be used to control the subject's mind and body."

Numair nodded. "But it also has another use, Daine. It can be used to locate the subject as well, and if necessary, one could use it to transport themselves magically to their location." He sighed heavily. "If I'd had a focus in Carthak, I could have found you _much_ faster, instead of roaming the Palace grounds, and things could have been very different now. Unfortunately I didn't take that into account – I had no intentions of getting separated from you, magelet. This," he pulled the lock of hair carefully from the pouch and placed it on the open book before him, "is an attempt to rectify that. You don't mind, do you?"

Daine dropped into the seat beside him. "I suppose not. It's not like you'll do anything with it, is it." She knew it was more of a statement than a question, and she didn't really expect an answer.

"We live in dangerous times, my magelet. One more way to keep track of you is perfectly reasonable. It's only for emergencies."

She felt rather mollified. "I understand. Just – when did you get it?"

Numair grinned. "When you were unconscious after your little Divine visit. I must've put it away and forgotten to tell you once you woke, with all that work on Weiryn we did. I would've waited until you'd woken, but -" he paused, clearly searching for the words. "You've developed such a tendency to disappear when I least expect it that I thought it best to do it whilst I remembered."

She wasn't sure there was a smart reply to _that_ statement. "You could've taken a handkerchief, Numair. Or a piece of one of my shirts, or something like that." _Not my hair_, she said silently, running her hand through her wild crop of hair, as if trying to work out where it had been cut.

"I could have," he agreed, clearly understanding her unspoken statement, "but your essence will fade on both those things, Daine. It's not likely to lessen when the object in question is your hair. It's a practical choice more than anything."

Daine muttered under her breath that Numair had never done a practical thing in his life as he placed the curl back in its pouch and attached it to his belt, choosing to ignore her comments. "Now, about the frankincense."


	11. Chapter 10: Resurgent Nightmares

**So it looks like updates might come fortnightly for a while. Thank you once again to all of you who've been kind enough to review – as usual, I can't tell you how much I appreciate it, but I'm sure some of you have a fair idea.**

**As always, the usual disclaimers apply.**

**Chapter 10**

* * *

Water was covering his mouth, and he surged upwards, gasping and spluttering as much as his beak would allow him. He shook his head, trying to clear his eyes and ears of liquid as something dragged him through the water. All he could see was a green, murky colour, but he could feel something surrounding him, and he recognized the harsh heat. He thrashed his wings, trying to escape from his new captor, struggling as his foot slashed. There was pain, lots of pain, emanating from his claws and working upwards, ever upwards, and he could smell something burning. He couldn't move his left leg. He screeched in panic as he was flipped onto his back. There, something he recognised, a noise. The water still filled his vision, but now, blue, and pink and brown blurs accompanied it. Soft whispering as his wings were constrained – what were they saying? He strained to hear as his vision cleared. "Daine!" he tried to say, but his beak would not allow for it. There was blood washing over her bare shoulders, arms and breasts; where had she injured herself? A spasm of pain echoed through his body, and his right leg flailed again, out of his control, catching, tearing at Daine's skin. 

"Numair," she said softly, even as in his panic he hurt her more. "Numair." He could feel his Gift answer her request as she held his eye, forming a cocoon around his body.

Gasping, the mage sat bolt upright in bed. He could feel sweat pouring off of him, and the only glow in the room came from his body, which, true to his nightmare, was surrounded by his Gift. The pain of the dream echoed itself now, his leg hurting worse than it had in weeks. His body began to retch, and leaning over the bed just in time, his stomach emptied its contents. For a few minutes all he could do was gasp and tremble, his body shivering with the shock. Finally, his arms strong enough, he pushed himself upwards, forcing himself to regain control of his body.

He pulled his Gift back within his body, feeling the room cool significantly as he did so. Grasping a little with his mind, he sent it to the candles and fire in his room, bringing light to his surroundings. He would have to get up in a minute, but his leg still shook with tremors of pain. Eventually, he pushed himself out of bed, and leaning on the wall for support, made his stumbling way to the washroom. Once he had washed his mouth, face and hair, slicking it back with a tie, he sat down on a stool, holding his head between his knees, his hands on either side. _Where had _that_ come from?_ he wondered.

All that water and heat? A burning pain, accompanied by smell, in his leg? More to the point, beak, wings and claws? And he couldn't ever remember a time where his Gift had activated itself in his sleep; not since he was a youngster anyway. Daine, she had been there. Unclothed. Why was he dreaming about his student in that state? He blushed with shame. He'd never done that before, and he would be damned if he would start now.

Something about the dream bothered him though. It had seemed more realistic than one of the wilder figments of his imagination. Why in the name of Mithros would he have been in bird-shape though? When?

Sudden realisation struck him. Two months ago, almost to the day, he and Daine had made their escape from Ozorne. Two months ago, he had been in bird-formation. Two months ago, he had received his injury, crashed into the Zekoi, and been rescued by Daine. Who, coincidentally, two months ago, had received what were undeniably animal-caused injuries to her torso. It could only have been a memory.

Which meant that it could only have been him that had injured Daine, if indeed that was the case.

He shook his head irritably. Why hadn't she _told_ him? Why hadn't she said, instead of leaving him wondering about what crazed animal could possibly have injured her? Now it seemed like _he_ was the crazed animal. It was the only possible solution. Her reluctance to speak to him about how she had sustained them; Alanna's refusal to tell him when she knew. It wasn't so much a lack of trust between the two; it was probably more a case of Daine's embarrassment and her strange notions of wanting to save him the pain of knowing he'd hurt her.

He cursed her odd concepts as he forced himself back through to his room, banging himself against his chest of drawers and swearing loudly. He had only gone a few steps further when a member of the Own burst through the door, sword drawn. "Are you all right?"

Numair recognised the man vaguely. "Yes. It's Derom, isn't it?"

The man nodded. "What happened?" He eyed the pool of vomit on the floor. "Do you need healer?"

Numair shook his head. "It's not necessary, thank you. Could you fetch Mistress Wainwright for me?" Derom nodded and headed for the door. Just before he went out, Numair called after him, "And don't wake Daine." He heard an affirmative murmur. He didn't think he could face his student just yet if his dream was in fact returned memory. He wasn't only annoyed that she hadn't told him, although he knew he probably would have done the same for her; but he was annoyed at his own body, his own weaknesses. Besides, he was sure if she'd just _told_ him, he would have taken her word for it and not spent time wondering about _how_ she'd been injured.

As he heard a clattering upstairs, he decided it would be no wonder if Daine _did_ wake, all the noise they were making. He dropped down into one of the cushioned chairs, sweat still pouring down his face at the exertion of effort it had taken him to move without his stick. He wiped his brow with a trembling hand, and leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes.

Footsteps rushed down the stairs and along the corridor. "Numair," came Abigail's concerned voice. He opened his eyes as she rushed over to him. "Are you all right?" she took his hand in hers. "You're freezing. Let me get you a blanket. Do you need anything to drink?"

By the time a tankard was pressed into his hands, Numair did not even have the energy to drink from it. Barely aware of a blanket being tucked round him, he rejoined his troubled dreams, dreading the images they would bring.

* * *

Numair was woken by someone loosening the grip he held on the tankard. He found himself suddenly looking into a pair of familiar blue-grey eyes. "Daine," he croaked, his throat rough. He could feel a blush immediately begin to touch his cheeks, although he wasn't sure if she noticed. 

"What happened to you?" she enquired lightly, taking the tankard from his hand and placing it on the table. "You were almost spilling your water," she explained. "Why aren't you in bed?" She knelt down at his knee, looking up at him.

He sighed. "I had a nightmare last night, Daine. It's nothing to worry about. I'm fine."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "So what happened?"

"What time is it?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

"Not long after dawn. Do you want the shutters opened?"

"Please," he smiled weakly. It would be nice to clear the room of the musty smell that currently filled it. He pushed himself upright in his chair.

"Why are the covers off your bed?" she asked as sunlight filled the room.

Too be honest, he didn't know. He must have been asleep when Abigail removed them. He shrugged at her. "Daine, you don't have to look after me all the time, you know."

She glanced at him over her shoulder as she built the fire. "I'm just getting the fire going for you," she said confusedly.

He shook his head. "That's not what I meant."

"Are you all right?" she asked after a moment of silence. She crossed the room and put her hand on his forehead, testing his temperature.

He shook it off. "I'm _fine_," he repeated. Daine balked at his tone, and Numair winced. "Look, Daine – why didn't you tell me?"

He could see confusion covering her face. "Tell you what?"

"My nightmare wasn't so much of a dream as it was a memory."

"A memory?" she asked, her cheeks beginning to colour.

"Yes," he said, knowing he had to keep going. "About when I had my accident."

"Oh that," she said, her eyes fixing firmly on the floor.

"Yes, _'that'_," he agreed. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me it was _me_ that hurt you?"

She shrugged, her voice small when she answered. "You never asked."

"No, but I would have appreciated some forthcomingness on the matter, Daine."

"I –" she hesitated, and then tried again. "Numair, we both had enough to worry about in short order. There were other matters that were more important at the time."

He glared at her. "But there's been little since. You could have told me Daine."

"You were so ill! Would it honestly have helped you to know?"

"That's beyond the point, Daine."

"That _is_ the point!" she retorted. She sighed quietly before asking, "How much did you remember?"

He could not keep the blush from his cheeks now. "As far as I know, everything from when I crashed down into the river to changing back."

"Everything?"

"Everything," he confirmed. "You don't have to protect me by not telling me things, Daine. Things like this, I would have preferred to be told than unwittingly discover in my sleep."

"Well there were certain things I didn't _want_ you to remember," she told him defensively.

Numair felt even more blood rush to his cheeks. "I know," he said softly. After a moments silence, he added, "You can come to me about anything, you know." She glanced up at him. "Anything you're worrying about. Don't try and spare my blushes," he added with a smile.

"I'll hold you to that," she warned him.

"I know you will magelet."

* * *

Numair watched his student closely for the next few days. If Daine had been quiet and miserable before, she was even more upset now Kitten had gone, that much was clear to him. And he couldn't help but feel that he was in some way responsible for that. He knew that she watched him too, worrying about him for one reason or another, and often if he looked up when they were working or eating, her eyes were on him. He knew it was out of her own worry for him, and that she had been detailed by Alanna to keep a close eye on him, but he wasn't sure he appreciated all the attention, and he had convinced himself that he could see pity in her expression when she didn't know he was watching her. Every morning and night when she treated his leg, he would often take the opportunity to see how she reacted to his injuries (and besides, anything was better than actually looking at them for himself) and quite often, he didn't like what he saw. If he wanted anything from his student, he could be sure it wasn't her pity. He'd seen her treat grievously injured animals with a similar expression, the torment in her eyes as she did so plain. And what was worse than being treated as an animal? 

Numair shook his head furiously as he thought those things. He knew she didn't think of him that way, or didn't intend him to think that she did, but he couldn't stop himself reasoning that she did. After all, his movements had been severely debilitated by the accident, and he knew it wasn't the only one of his physical abilities to have been affected.

Undermined by lack of resources, lack of practice and general lack of interest, he could almost feel his Gift waning. It wasn't decreasing in strength, but there was only so much Numair could do in this tiny little house with no duties from the king and no studies he could pursue that didn't draw attention to them or was for purpose more than basic tasks or for entertainment. He had failed, after all, to remove the spell on Kitten which he had so confidently assured Daine was easily breakable. Instead, he had only served to make the situation worse, and inadvertently upset Daine in the process. Not only that, but when the spell finally had been broken, Kitten had been removed from the house, which had only upset Daine, and himself, more. If he was honest with himself, he felt hopeless. What use was his magic now? His famed, black-robed strength and control, and here he could do nothing.

Yes, he could hide the house, cover it with an illusion so it appeared dilapidated (or even more so than it already was) and uninhabited to passers-by; he could place wards around the house, his Gift stretching over the building to dome over the garden, with a spell so potent that he _knew_ each and every time a member of the guard or Abigail entered or left the building; he could create a spell weave that, if the building were to be eavesdropped upon, left the listener hearing creaking wood, dripping water and the scurrying of rodents.

But what use were all his defences when he couldn't perform one simple task?

He couldn't keep them, just him and Daine, free from detection in the outside world. He wasn't trusted to hide a two year old dragon from the world. They couldn't live their lives normally, because his Gift could not shield each of them individually from every threat that came their way.

Instead, they were trapped inside this gods-forsaken hole, unable to leave their rooms. They may as well have been imprisoned; trapped behind bars in Ozorne's menagerie as they once had been.

Either way, Numair thought dejectedly, the Emperor Mage had won. He'd caged them, captured them both. He may not know where they were, but they were simply sitting ducks waiting to be discovered.

Immured as they were, helpless to protect them, Numair felt lost and useless. Rarely had he felt so unsure of himself, so incompetent.

And he was, because he had failed the one thing that his role designated he do.

He had failed to protect Daine.

He had failed her.

* * *

Methodically she knocked the arrow on the string. For a moment she held the bow, half drawn, pointed towards the ground. Her eyes closed, she took a deep breath, moving onto the balls of her feet and back down again to adjust her balance. To an onlooker she looked hesitant and fidgety, not quite comfortable in her stance. However, Daine, on the other hand, knew exactly what she was doing. The target was visualised in her mind and she knew, upon opening her eyes and loosing her arrow that her bolt would fly home, more often than not hitting the target precisely. She usually only did this in competitions; her opponents would see her looking nervous and unsure, would bet against her and switch the odds in her favour. Her friends on the other hand, knew Daine's routine well. 

Sarge had once called her his own personal goldmine.

She didn't actually need to do this anymore. When she was younger, it had been her way of steadying her nerves, perfecting her aim and balance, and adjusting her breathing. Now she just used the time to think.

And the main topic on her mind at the moment was Numair. It was no longer just his mixture of moods or the extent of his injuries that she was concerned about; now she dreaded leaving him to sleep every night.

She supposed in all reality that Numair would be far more apprehensive about what the night brought for him than she was. After all, it was him and not her who was having the repeated nightmares. She could see it in his eyes every time she left him for the night; she or Abigail would stay with him until they were almost asleep in their chairs or Numair ordered them away. He still hadn't told either of them what the dreams were about either, apart from the first time. As far as she knew, he hadn't even told her or Abigail that he was still having the nightmares either. Every morning she would ask him how he had slept whilst she was treating him, but he always gave her the same answer: "well." At the same time, his face would flush red, so she didn't like to ask him more, but the bags under his eyes were growing and his face was getting paler. The last thing Numair needed when he was meant to be recovering was to be loosing sleep as well.

Daine had slept lightly the night following Numair's first nightmare, prepared to call for assistance in case it happened again. At his first yell, Daine had sat straight up in bed, bat ears in place of her own, listening to the tiniest noises from downstairs. After a few more groans, she had crept out of her bed, pulled on her night-robe over her sleep clothes and stole down the stairs. She had hesitated outside his door, her hand hovering over the doorknob, but after several minutes the mage had fallen silent, and Daine had returned to her uneasy sleep. When it happened again the next night though, Daine had scurried down the stairs, closely followed by Abigail.

The pair had been stopped when they reached his door though. The hinges and doorknob sparkled with Numair's black Gift. Reaching a hand out tentatively, Daine yanked it back, clutching it to herself.

"Did it hurt?" Abigail asked, eyeing the doorknob suspiciously.

"No, not really. He's locked it though. There's no way to get through without a more powerful Gift." She shook her hand roughly to try and stop its tingling.

The maid pounded on the door in attempt to raise the room's occupant. "Numair. Numair!"

"He might not be able to hear us," Daine said. She frowned. "But if he's putting spells on his door, why not make it so we can't hear him?" She bit her lip. "I don't understand."

"Maybe he thought he was, but he made a mistake."

Daine shook her head disbelievingly. "Numair wouldn't make a mistake like that. Besides, he's been casting this spell so often recently I don't think there's any way he could."

The maid shrugged. "It's always poss –"

"It's not," Daine insisted firmly. "He had a spell like this in Carthak, when he wanted to be left alone. We know he's in there, we just can't get to him." There was another pained yell from inside, and Daine flinched. "We have to try though. Who's on duty?"

"Graham I think. Do you want me to fetch him?"

Daine thought for a minute. "There must be a way inside without breaking the door down, surely."

Abigail looked at her appraisingly. "I thought you said there were mice in the house. Can they get in there?"

"Of course. Numair keeps a plate of food for them."

"So can you get in there with them?"

Within minutes, Daine had followed Abigail's advice and was scurrying around the floorboards, looking for a gap in the skirting boards she could slip through. She had crept through, stopping behind Numair's dressing screen to pull one of his over-sized shirts on, covering her nearly to her knees, before she looked around.

The room was lit by an unearthly glow, which seemed to be emanating from Numair himself. As she crept closer to his bed, she realised that his Gift rippled around his body, almost completely covering him. He moaned loudly and tossed as if in pain, and her first reaction was to reach out to him, but she didn't know whether his magic would affect her. Instead, she sat on the chair next to his bed, leaning in closely to him.

"Numair," she called softly. When he didn't respond after a few more attempts, she had raised her voice. "Numair. Numair! Wake up now. It's all right, you're safe." Remembering he had told her his nightmare was fuelled by memories of their escape from Carthak, she tried a new tact.

"That's it, Numair. Ozorne can't get you here. You're safe, we're both safe." His head twitched at her voice, turning towards her slightly. She smiled grimly. "I've got you now. You're – you're human again. You don't need your Gift anymore. You're safe." She tried again and smiled in satisfaction as his magic sank back into his body. "That's it. You're doing well," she murmured. Reaching out, she ran a hand over his face, pushing his hair off his forehead and smoothing it down. "We're safe now. No one can hurt us here."

She had stayed with him until he had calmed completely, finally creeping back out as the sun began to rise. Abigail, still waiting in the corridor, had carried her, and her clothes, upstairs, where they had had a hushed conversation about what they could do to help him.

And in the morning, Numair had denied all existence of his nightmare, and didn't even seem to remember that Daine had been in his room, although she hadn't really expected him to, seeing as he'd been asleep at the time. But she did know he couldn't –

Her thoughts were rudely interrupted by a cough to her right. Refusing to be distracted from her shot, she swung her bow up and fired, hitting the target in the centre before turning to face her observer.

"Impressive," Lachann said.

Daine sighed and crossed the stable floor to collect her arrows.

"I didn't know you were holding archery practices in here. Can anyone join?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him disparagingly, before returning to the work of freeing her arrows.

"I'm sorry," he called from the other end of the stables. "I didn't mean to offend or insult you or your teacher last time we spoke. I was wrong to believe the rumours, you were right. Is my apology accepted?"

Daine yanked fiercely at the arrow she gripped, pulling it free with a tug that almost threatened to pull the boss from its stand. Steadying it, she returned the last of her arrows to her quiver, before pacing the length of the room again.

Facing the target once more, she took a deep breath, holding her stance before loosing her arrow. When it had firmly lodged itself in the target, Lachann spoke again.

"I know you don't need to do all this standing about. I've seen you in battle. You don't pause before you loose then."

Daine swung her head round. "Where did we fight together?"

"At Carrick Falls, in June, do you remember?"

"The rogue Centaurs," she said, rubbing her arm. Concealed by her arm brace was a scar that had been caused by one of their arrows. "I remember." Numair had encircled the one that had shot her with magical ropes, and would probably have done much more if she hadn't needed assistance.

Now Lachann nodded towards her arm. "It was a nasty shot they gave you. I was surprised you were back out in the field the next day."

Daine smiled. "I wouldn't have been if the Lioness hadn't been there. And if Numair had had his way, I wouldn't have been outside for a fortnight afterwards."

"He's very protective of you."

Daine tensed at the return to the subject of her relationship with her teacher.

Lachann gave a small smile. "I don't mean anything by it, lady. I've learned my lesson on that front. Lord Raoul nearly knocked my head into a fencepost when he found out what I'd said." She grinned. "Only reason he didn't was 'cause he said that the telling off I got from you was probably more than enough. An' he was right and all."

Daine shook her head with a smile. "As long as the lesson stuck." She pulled another arrow from her quiver and knocked it. Once she had fired, the guard came to stand behind her.

"You've a good eye on you," he told her, watching her line up her next shot.

"I know," came the simple answer. The arrow fired with a twang, and she frowned, studying the knocking points on her string, before loading another bolt. This one landed with a satisfying thud in the target.

"I know you can fire faster than that, Lady Daine." She turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. "What say I fetch those arrows of yours and you show me what you can really do?"

Daine smiled at the challenge. "You're on. And it's just Daine."

* * *

All Hallows came and went; and with it, important news. 

"Daine!" Numair's voice called her to the study, where she found him studiously reading a letter marked with the royal seal.

"What news?" she asked, sitting opposite him at the desk.

Numair sighed, rubbing a temple with his one free hand as he passed her the letter. She only had time to glance at it before he spoke. "It seems that Lindhall's fears have been confirmed. Ozorne has arrested Kaddar."

Daine's hand flew to her mouth in horror. "Will he be executed?"

"He may be," he answered sympathetically, reaching his hand across the desk to take her hand away from her mouth. He squeezed it reassuringly. "It's… most likely. Lindhall and his conspirators are working to free him. They'll do all they can for him."

Two days passed without news, and Daine found it hard to concentrate, as worried about her friends as she was. Numair too was concerned for the prince and Lindhall, and in the end, released her from lessons as they waited for information. The atmosphere in the house was tense and apprehensive; even Abigail was less cheered than usual. Finally, late one night, a speaking spell roused her from her troubled sleep. "Magelet," Numair's voice murmured in her ear. "I have news."

She scrambled to pull on her night-robe over her sleep-clothes, not even bothering to dress as she hurried downstairs, stumbling as she went and jumping the last few. She burst into his room to find him sitting in bed, his covers wrapped around him. The banked fire cast an orange glow over his bare chest, arms and face, his body etched in light and shade, and flickering over his loose hair. Daine had the strangest feeling, her heart constricted in her chest, as she entered the room, but she pushed it down as Numair smiled at her and patted the right side of his bed as an indication to sit next to him. She hurried to cross the room, kneeling on the bed next to his hip.

"They got Kaddar out. He was being transported to his execution, and they ambushed him. One of the mages was killed, but they've escaped Carthak city safely. Lindhall and Kaddar will be making their way here through the slave underground soon."

"Oh, thank the Gods," she breathed.

Slyly, the mage said, "You're very relieved Kaddar's safe."

Half-wondering why he was asking, she replied, "Of course. He was a good friend whilst we were there. And Lindhall too. I'm so happy to know he's safe. I liked him."

Numair smiled. "I'm glad. I'd hoped you would," he confided. He stretched, flexing his arms in the air and bending his leg next to her, the sheets falling down as he did so. For all that she had seen his chest before, Daine noticed a curious feeling when she glanced at his stomach. Numair seemed oblivious to her expression, and she was glad it was dark enough to hide the flush she could feel creeping up her face; she could always blame it on the heat of the room. "He had such radical ideas about animals when he was young, and you've proved half of them true."

They stayed late into the night discussing Lindhall, and Numair's youth with him. She couldn't help but laugh at some of young Numair's – _Arram's_, she corrected herself – exploits with his master, and she found herself curled up on the bed next to Numair, her head propped up on her elbow as she listened to him. She could feel her eyelids drooping shut as Numair told her of a trip they had made to the dye producers and tanners of Thak's Gate, and the moment that Lindhall's expression changed as he realised he was falling backwards into a vat of what was essentially red pigment and stale urine.

"I'm sorry, magelet," he murmured, bringing a hand down to stroke her head softly. "You're tired. I should have known you wouldn't be sleeping well."

"I'm fine," she managed.

"Come on; to bed with you," he said softly, his warm hand stroking the hair from her face, and unwittingly only increasing her desire to sleep exactly where she was.

"Mm'hmm," she muttered, shifting her head slightly.

When it became apparent that his student had absolutely no intention of, or energy for, moving, Numair sighed softly. If this had happened in the Palace, he would have immediately been concerned for the welfare of her reputation, or the rumours that would circulate the moment the situation became apparent. Of course, if they were in the Palace, he would never have called her to his rooms at such a late hour; they'd have met somewhere public; and she certainly wouldn't have taken up residence on his bed at this time of night, not that he'd have invited her in the first place. Thankfully though, this was as far from the social situation of the Palace they could be; idle gossip would not be able to spread from this house.

A sudden thought made his body tense even further; he felt almost rigid from fear. His nightmares of their escape from Carthak came frequently in his sleep, sometimes more than once a night. So far, he had managed to keep their recurrences hidden from the household, and especially from Daine, but with her asleep in his bed now, there would be little he could do to avoid it. He was sorely tempted to summon a member of their guard and have them carry Daine upstairs, but he had found over the past few weeks he had little faith in the honour of the men who had been entrusted with their protection. It was not their loyalty that he was questioning; more how some of the men acted whilst around Daine. He had heard them more than once discussing his student in less than virtuous ways, and Numair was loath to have them carry Daine to her bed whilst she was asleep. Better to keep her with him and safe, and pray to Lord Ganiel that no night-terrors were visited upon him that night.

Sighing resignedly, he studied his student as she slept, gently winding one of his hands in her soft curls and massaging her scalp beneath. She moaned slightly and pushed her head into his hand unconsciously. Numair grinned; for all Daine's affinity for wolves, she was, if anything, more kitten-like in her characteristics. As he settled down in his bed next to her, hesitating for a moment before drawing her closer to him for warmth – she was, after all, without a blanket, and a frost had fallen the morning before – he half expected her to purr in her sleep.


	12. Chapter 11: Slow Awakening

**As always, I can't thank you enough for your support! It's always great to hear reviews, and if you spot any mistakes or have any questions, please, contact me through the reviews or through my profile page. Thanks again!**

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**As always, Daine, Numair and any other recognisable characters aren't mine. They belong to Tamora Pierce.**

**Chapter 11**

* * *

Daine woke up with the strangest sensation, one she hadn't felt since the beginning of her captivity. She definitely shared her bed with something warm, although it was far too long to be Kitten. A heavy weight pressed across her chest and over her shoulder. A glance through her lashes told her that it was an arm; a large, hairy, undeniably _male_ arm.

Heavy confusion, only increased by the muddled sensation of sleep, filled her head as she tried to remember what had got her into this situation, and where exactly she was. A glance to her right identified both the owner of the arm and the familiar scent which accompanied it: Numair.

Memories came flooding back to her; the news of the safe escape of Kaddar and Lindhall; the long conversations it had led to; the increasing sensation of exhaustion gnawing at her that was only allowed to take real control over her body once she'd heard the reassuring news. She supposed that, and Numair's continuing unsteadiness, explained her current location. Possibly not why his arm was draped over her, or why he was quite so close, and her body half turned into his.

She shivered. Mithros, it was _cold_, and no wonder, she thought. The fire had died over the night and she slept with her night-robe as her only cover. Edging closer to the mage, slowly so as not to wake him, she rested her head lightly on his shoulder. After all, she had done it enough times when they were awake; why not now? The arm that was clamped around her pulled her closer, and Numair's head shifted, resting on top of her own and tucking her under his chin.

For a moment she lay quietly, enjoying the warmth and for once feeling relaxed, eyes half open to the blue light that filtered through the gaps in the shutters. She wondered what it was about her teacher that made her feel so; after all, Numair was the only real friend she had in this house without Kitten. Lachann and Graham and her other friends amongst the guards were all very well, but she didn't know any of them like she did Numair.

Moving forward so she rested her head on his chest, she blinked at the roughness of his patch of chest hair, and rubbed her cheek in it until she was more comfortable. She frowned suddenly. Was _this_ what attracted all those court ladies to Numair? Feelings of comfort and safety, and – she remembered with a flush her own reaction the night before – excitement? Her stomach flittered uncomfortably. How strange it was that those three should go together. How could something be safe _and_ exciting at the same time? The man radiated power, yes; maybe that was why all those women were attracted to him. She had seen him charm many women over the years she had spent with him, but he often took delight in charming her until she was in a fluster just to ruffle her feathers. She squirmed closer in his arms. How many women had he held in the same position?

Suddenly feeling confused and unsure, her nose itched at its contact with his chest hair. She rubbed it viciously against the first surface that it came into contact with, hoping to stop herself from sneezing.

Abruptly she became aware that the man's heartbeat and breathing had sped up, his arms tightening around her. "Daine," came his soft voice, full of sleep, confused and serious at the same time, "What are you doing?"

She froze. "Itchy nose," she said, feeling the flush of embarrassment creep slowly up her cheeks as she became aware of just what a stupid thing she'd done.

"And you couldn't have found something more suitable than me to alleviate it with?" he asked. She could almost picture the frown he wore; when she glanced up at him, she saw it mirrored completely on his face. Staring straight ahead was no better, giving her a clear view of his chest. She squirmed slightly and his arms around her loosened, then released her.

"I suppose I should go to bed," she said quietly.

"Hmm," her companion murmured.

"I'll – um – I'll see you in the morning."

"It's almost morning now," he pointed out as she sat up, pulling her robe around her uneasily.

"Yes, but – I'll see you later Numair." With that she scurried out the room before he could answer.

She needed to control the violent butterflies in her stomach before she could face him again.

* * *

Numair watched his student hurry out of the room with some confusion. It was far too early for him to try and comprehend what had just happened. He scrubbed his face roughly and pushed himself upright before reaching for the pitcher of water on his bedside table.

He sipped the cold water slowly, feeling himself begin to wake slowly as he contemplated the matter. He knew _why_ she was there; he just wasn't sure what she – or he – had been doing when he woke, nor why Daine had responded in quite that way to him. She had seemed so awkward, and whilst he understood that they didn't normally wake in situations like that, he hadn't expected her to react quite like that when he let her fall asleep beside him.

He hadn't anticipated waking in quite such close proximity to her either though. He was surprised at how easy it had been, how comfortable it was, for him to hold her. Of course, he had hugged her before, out of concern, relief or happiness, or from pride, but it had never been quite like that. He liked the feeling of her relaxed within his arms. He had even been reluctant to let her go, despite the impropriety of the situation, and his general bewildered state.

Numair sighed. His behaviour would hardly be deemed acceptable. He knew that well, but the matter wasn't quite as straightforward as it seemed when it came to working out a solution.

At the very least, he was confused. He knew that it was most definitely not the smartest idea to have let her fall asleep on his bed, or to have wrapped his arms around her, and it was improper of him to feel quite so comfortable with the resulting circumstances, especially when it came to admitting that he had enjoyed it, even.

He groaned softly and ran his hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck. Maybe it wasn't that he felt comfortable holding Daine – holding his _student_ – and more that he missed his normal company in general. After all, Daine was just a teenager, and, more to the point, his apprentice. She was most certainly a friend, but she wasn't anything more than that, and in which case, she wasn't a suitable substitute for the type of female company he wanted.

He frowned. That phrasing made it sound entirely wrong. Numair liked questions, and he liked working out the solutions to them even more, but this one seemed a bit beyond him. He just wanted someone of a similar age to talk to, and all of his normal companions were either in the Palace or the field. He wanted to seek advice from someone on the matter, but it was hardly something he could trust to a letter if he couldn't even get the words to sound right in his own head, and the point was he wanted to _see_ his friends, not write to them. Even Alanna could stretch to offering advice to him from time to time, when he asked for it – which he could admit was rarely – but the female knight was far more perceptive than she looked.

He hated the restraints that this house put on them. Numair thought he was beginning to understand how Daine felt on the matter. He wanted to get _out! _It was ridiculous really, as it was only for their (apparent) benefit that they were here, but anyone could get sick of being confined in one house for so long.

There was something else that had made the night unusual though. He hadn't hand one nightmare, not even a flash of fear, with Daine sleeping beside him. It had been his first night of uninterrupted sleep in weeks, and that was something else for him to wonder about. Maybe, undoubtedly, it was her presence, both in the dream and in reality, which had helped to relax him to the point where he could sleep normally. Because she had been the one to calm him when it had happened, perhaps her being there had removed the fear that he normally felt at night.

But what could he do? He couldn't insist she slept in the same room as him every night to ensure he didn't have any more nightmares. It wouldn't be fair on either of them, especially her, when she had already complained to him of guards whispering about the status of their relationship. If people – even within the house – found that she had spent the night in his room, he hated to think how many more rumours that would fuel and how much more upset that would cause her. Maybe letting her sleep next to him hadn't been the smartest idea he'd had recently after all.

He sighed as the clear light that indicated the sun had risen began to filter into the room. It was no use trying to return to sleep now; soon the household would begin to move about around him, and his stomach was already beginning to demand attention. Perhaps Abigail would be awake already. Maybe he could beg an early breakfast from her, he thought as he began to dress.

* * *

She was, he discovered when he entered the kitchen to find the maid sitting at the table, nursing a cup of tea. She looked up in surprise as he entered the room. "Master Salmalín," she started. "You're up early."

He smiled ruefully. "I know."

She rose as he took a seat at the table. "Is there anything I can get you?"

"A roll and some of that tea would be wonderful," he told her.

"I had been informed you weren't a morning person," she said as she poured hot liquid from the kettle, before adding a spoonful of tea leaves, "but you seem bright enough just now."

"I'm not," he said genially. "I tend to avoid the morning as much as possible, generally. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You're fine," the maid told him, placing the mug before him. "We've some freshly churned butter, if you'd like that on your roll."

"It's delicious," he told her through a mouthful of bread a few moments later. The maid beamed at him, and he swallowed. "Your baking skills surpass those of the Palace bakers easily."

"They'll never let you in the kitchens again if they hear that," Daine told him as she sat down next to him. Her face seemed a little flushed as she looked at him, and as he caught her eye, she looked down. "Not that you're allowed in most of them anyway. They don't trust him," she informed Abigail. "They think he's mad. Every time he goes near the kitchen, they expect an oven to blow up." She glanced at him quickly and then back at the maid. "I don't blame them either. Do you know that flour can explode if you burn it right?" She nodded towards him. "He taught me that."

"It wasn't me who made it!" he objected.

The maid eyed him with amusement. "Am I safe to be letting you in my kitchen?"

Numair rolled his eyes. "I promise I won't blow anything up in your kitchen without fair reason or warning."

"I'm not sure that's quite good enough, Master Numair," the maid said jovially as she set about preparing Daine's breakfast, as Daine herself rose to help. "I'd prefer it didn't get blown up under any circumstances at all."

"Unless strictly necessary, then," he amended. "Will that suit you, milady?"

Abigail giggled and Daine sighed loudly. He glared at his student, wondering what had gotten into her. "If it's the best I'll get, then I'll take your word on it I suppose."

Daine dropped back into her seat. "Sometimes I think those cooks are more right that you like to admit, Numair."

He ignored her remark pointedly, instead turning to Abigail. "Could I have some more of that bread, please?"

"So what is it that has you rising with the birds then, Master Numair?" she asked as she prepared the food.

His glance flicked to Daine and back to Abigail again quickly. "I couldn't sleep."

The maid exchanged significant glances with his student as she placed the plate on the table; Numair couldn't work out the reason why for the life of him. "And why was that?" she said conversationally, slipping into the chair beside him, although Numair knew there was something more to the question than he could understand.

"I –" he hesitated, trying to work out how not to implicate Daine as the reason he had been kept awake. "I heard something scurrying around in my room. A mouse perhaps. I was wondering if you could maybe look for them later, Daine."

She glared at him before dipping her head in consent.

"There wasn't anything else then?" the maid asked.

"No," he frowned. "I slept through the night until an hour or so ago. Should there have been?"

"Oh, no," she said quickly. "It's only that I was sure I heard a disturbance in the street last night, and I thought, with your room being much closer to the road than mine, that you must have been woken too. That's all."

Numair raised an eyebrow. "A disturbance?" he queried. "Did the guard attend to it?"

Abigail shook her head. "I don't know, I didn't leave my room. I just assumed it was a drunken argument, nothing more."

"Hmm," he murmured. "Did you hear anything, Daine?"

"Oh, a noise or two, a few yells. It sounded like a brawl to me. The Provost's lot probably got to it."

He eyed his student suspiciously. Her face had taken on that set it had when she lied, her eyes daring him to question her. She flushed again under his stare and looked away. He knitted his brows in confusion. When she seemed to dislike Abigail, why on earth would Daine be lying in collusion with her?

"Anyway Numair," the woman changed the subject, distracting him from his train of thoughts, "are you trying to tell us that the great Master Salmalín is scared of a mouse?"

"No," he said slowly, still trying to comprehend what was happening. "I was just saying that it woke me." Really, he was no better than either of the other two, lying to cover his real reasons. Maybe that was why Daine had lied; so that Abigail thought she had been in her own room the night before, but then why all the secret glances? He sighed softly.

"Perhaps it was one of Daine's bird friends that got in," Abigail suggested, before shrugging. "No matter; if they haven't mentioned it to us by now, it can't have been much of a problem, really."

"Or maybe they're waiting for you to get up, Numair," Daine put in. "Everyone in this house knows you stay abed as long as possibly, normally."

"And for good reason," he countered automatically. "That way, I avoid your morning moods."

Daine closed her mouth quickly, silencing her retort with it. She looked slightly exasperated, but Numair reasoned that if his student was being impertinent to him, then it was only fair that he gave as good as he got. He smiled triumphantly at her for a moment before her scowl broke and she stuck her tongue out at him, and then turned away to cover her own smile.

When he turned to his left, he discovered Abigail watching the situation with some amusement. "Is it always like this between you two?"

"More often than not," Daine spoke. "Numair needs someone to put him in his place sometimes; he forgets how to act round people if he spends too much time round his books."

"And Daine needs to be reminded of her manners if she spends too much time with her animals," he parried.

She pulled a face at him again and he grinned.

"He only says that because my pony calls him Stork-man," she told Abigail. Numair inwardly cringed. It was bad enough that all the People called him that, but for Daine to tell two-leg – _humans_, he corrected – was completely unnecessary. Especially when the human concerned was Abigail.

The maid smiled. "'Stork-man'?" she queried. When she saw his obvious discomfort, her grin increased. "And where does that name come from then?"

"Well," Daine said, obviously taking great delight in embarrassing him in front of the woman, "Cloud – my pony – calls him that because she says he has overly-long legs, like a stork. He's so bony, that's what he reminds her of, apparently." Daine sat back in her chair with a triumphant smile. She seemed to have gotten over her apparent unease around him suspiciously quickly. "Personally, I like it."

"You would," he muttered darkly, making Abigail giggle.

"Oh, Numair," she said despairingly, shaking her head with a smile. "You only make it worse for yourself."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he told her. "I don't make it worse for anyone but Daine."

His student rolled her eyes theatrically as she stood and began to clear the table. "He likes to think so, anyway. I let him to make him feel better about it."

"See?" Abigail smiled. "You retaliate, and her replies get worse. You should just leave her be, really."

Numair could see Daine turn to glance over her shoulder at the couple as she began to rinse the dishes. He frowned at her and she shook her head, shrugging. "No," he responded finally. "We need to sharpen our wits off one another every now again."

"Otherwise life gets a bit dull," Daine put in.

"So you're a team in almost every sense of the word, then," Abigail enquired.

Numair eyed her closely, wondering exactly what she meant. Daine saved him from answering. "Not quite," she said vaguely. "You should see him when I get on his bad side."

"I'm not that bad," he protested.

"You know about the man he turned into a tree?" Daine said, before carrying on without giving Abigail the chance to answer. "He threatens me with dropping me down crevasses and locking me in dungeons if I don't do what he says."

"Oh really?" Abigail turned an enquiring eye to him.

"Well, it's worked so far," he said dismissively.

Daine made a face at him as she put the dishes away. "I'm not about to go and get myself killed against your orders, am I? It'd just be plain silly to think that, Numair." She gestured over her shoulder towards the stairs. "I'm going to get my bow if you don't need me for a while."

He nodded at her. "In a moment," he confided loudly to Abigail, "she'll be asking if all adults are this silly."

"Actually," Daine called haughtily over her shoulder as she left, "I stopped asking that a while ago. Now I only ask if all _black_-_robes_ are this silly, because clearly all that book-reading has gone to their heads."

Abigail giggled at the injured scowl on Numair's face. "You must be close for her to tease you so."

Numair opened his mouth to answer, before closing it abruptly as he wondered what Abigail meant exactly by 'close'. He hoped she wasn't implying…

"We've been put in more near-death situations than I care to count, Abigail," he said finally. "That sort of experience forces one to breed trust in one's companion. Our intimacy is solely based on that, not any kind of exclusivity, you understand." Seeing the look on Abigail's face, he knew that she did, but for final emphasis, added, "She's not to my tastes anyway."

Abigail smiled, inching perceptibly closer to him. "And what _is_ to your tastes, if it is not to bold to enquire?"

Numair smiled, and placed a hand gently on hers.

"He likes blondes," Daine's voice came abruptly from the doorway. Numair frowned at the expression she wore. "You're just his sort."

"Daine," he said sharply, but the maid seemed nonplussed.

She shrugged at him and smiled at the girl in the door. "How's your archery doing?"

"Well, thank you," Daine said coolly. "There's not much range in there, but I'm doing the best I can with what I've been given."

"As do we all, Daine," the maid replied. Numair caught the flash of irritation on his student's face before she managed to repress it, glancing away from him on the pretence of searching through her quiver.

"I'll see you later," she said finally, slinging her quiver over her shoulder and adjusting the grip on her bow. She gave Numair one final glance as she slipped out of the door and into the courtyard, and the mage suppressed a moan. There seemed to be more than one thing going on in this room that he didn't understand, and one of Numair's least favourite things was not comprehending situations entirely.

Beside him, Abigail cleared her throat quietly and caught his eye. "It'll pass," she told him wisely.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Does that mean you understand more about what she's thinking than I do?"

The maid smiled. "I was a teenaged girl once too," she pointed out. "Once she's more used to the place and the situation, she'll be happier."

"I used to know things like that," he said glumly. "I could tell what mood she was in, or how much time she needed."

The maid turned her hand under his so it was palm up, and squeezed his hand. "I think it'd be fair to say that she'd be far happier knowing you were."

His gaze fixed on their hands. "She might have quite a wait."

Abigail tugged his hand gently, diverting the focus of his attention to her face. "I don't know," she said with a small smile, "I think I could tease a smile out of you now and then." She tilted her head to one side, and Numair cocked an eyebrow in curiosity, and leaned forwards slightly. The maid moved towards him, but before she could reach him, there was the clatter of footsteps on the stairs.

Abigail swore softly, jumping to her feet. "The guards' breakfasts," she muttered, hurrying into the pantry to fetch their food.

"Mornin', Abigail," one of the guards said loudly as three trouped into the room.

"Morning," she called in reply.

"And what delicious goods have you got for us this fine day then?"

"It's blessed freezing," another muttered.

"Something hot to warm your toes then, Lachann." The maid refilled the kettle and placed it on the stove, before fetching another pan from the cupboard. "Will some porridge do you?"

Her question was met by a number of appreciative grunts, when Numair heard, "And where's the lovely Mistress Daine this morning then?"

Numair raised his eyebrow. "She's in the stable. Why?"

"Practising with her bow again, Lachann," one of the men chuckled. "I'd stay out of there 'til she's done. Lethal shot, she is."

The man in question, Lachann, swore, his face turning red, as the rest of the men laughed. Abigail caught his eye over their heads and gave him a smile, shaking her head.

The mage grinned back. Maybe he could leave Daine to fend off her own admirers for once. He leaned back in his chair, going to stretch his legs out under the table before the tug of the taught skin on his left leg reminded him of his injury, and Numair immediately felt his mood take a turn for the worse. For one long, happy moment, he had managed to forget about it and be completely unaware of his injury. Instead he had been free to concentrate on his normal joking with Daine, and probing the extents of his relationship with Abigail more. And now? How could he expect the maid to be concerned with him now? Why would she – why would anybody, he added bitterly – be bothered with someone like him? If Abigail was looking for company in the house, she'd be far better talking to one of the guards instead. At least they were intact. At least they weren't scarred.


	13. Chapter 12: Confronting Demons

**So I made a slight error the last time round where the first section of this chap was supposed to be the cliffy for the last. So instead, you have an extra long one instead. (Also, because there is absolutely no way whatsoever I can update until mid-December. I'm SO sorry!) Oh, and if you think the last bit sounds familiar, watch me deviate after that!**

**Once again, I can't thank you enough for all your reviews. If you want a reply and you haven't logged in, leave your email ad for me in the review, or contact me through my profile. And I always appreciate your comments, so please keep reviewing!**

**The recognisable characters in this story are the property of Tamora Pierce. The odd plot is all mine though!**

**Chapter 12**

* * *

It was three days after Daine had woken up next to Numair after hearing of Kaddar and Lindhall's escape. The girl was trying her hardest to act normally around her teacher, or as normally as she had been since arriving in the house, but she was feeling decidedly odd around him, and she wasn't really sure why. She had been vaguely wondering about putting the question to Cloud, who was currently at pasture in one of the Rider paddocks, but she wasn't sure how to best explain it to the pony, or how to accept her particular horse-brand of advice. She shook her head, trying to force her mind back to the task at hand; treating Numair. "Your foot's healing well, Numair." 

He made a vague noise of agreement and Daine looked up from applying the salve to his leg. The mage was staring into the distance over her shoulder and didn't actually appear to be listening to her.

"The big toe nail has almost grown back entirely," she persisted. Still he didn't seem to respond. She doubted he had ever known it was gone.

She eyed him critically. His skin had taken on an unhealthy pallor, losing his normal swarthiness despite his natural skin colour, and his leg muscles lacked tone. She could see the same changes in her own body too; her skin, normally tinted from her outside work, had lost it's normal colour, but it was nothing compared to the sallow, wan appearance of Numair's skin; she could feel her natural fitness diminishing – only in the past few weeks had she been able to build up the endurance in her arms to shoot for longer periods of time – and his leg muscles were beginning to recover, but the mage, who she had once teased for being vain, didn't seem to care for his appearance anymore. More often than not, his face was covered in rough stubble and his hair was often simply scraped back, with none of his usual grooming. He was beginning to look _old_, something which scared her more than anything. It wouldn't have bothered Daine otherwise – she still thought he was handsome, maybe more than well enough if she was perfectly honest – but this was not her friend. Normally, when he was bed-bound for any period of time after a draining, the first thing he requested after eating was a bath and a shave. At first, he had even been reluctant to explore the library; if even the lure of books couldn't interest him, something was clearly wrong.

Finishing applying the cream, she washed her hands roughly in the cleansing bowl and sat down in the chair next to him, her arms crossed. The quick movement seemed to catch Numair's attention.

"Are you finished?" he asked.

"Almost."

Numair, obviously thinking Daine had completed her work, glanced down at his un-bandaged leg. His face drained of the little colour it had, and he yelped, his head jerking away from the sight. "I thought you said you'd finished!" he gasped.

"I said 'almost', actually."

"Daine," he managed. He sounded so pitiful and looked so panic-stricken, Daine immediately felt guilty, but she pushed the feeling down instantly. It was maybe unfair of her to have shocked him like that, but Numair needed to deal with his injury, otherwise he was never going to get better. Numair had never been one to let an open wound fester, especially where she was concerned, preferring to pull the poison out and deal with it, and Daine thought it was only fair that she did the same for him.

"Look," she said, steeling herself, "I'd say I was sorry but I'm not. You need to start accepting this Numair. It's not life-threatening, it won't stop you anymore, and if you don't try, you'll never get anywhere. You're supposed to be walking round the garden for an hour a day – I'm lucky if you're doing it for near an hour a week! _And_ you're meant to be using your crutch less – if Alanna comes here to find that you're not, she'll be plenty angry about that. I might be short of a teacher if you don't do something about it." _And I've barely got you back,_ she added silently.

Her mentor still looked pale, and she noticed he was shaking. Once more she suppressed feelings of guilt to dwell upon later. "Daine," he said again, his voice unsteady, "you can't just ask me to deal with something that –"

"It's not sudden," she defended herself.

"No, it's not," he carried on, "but you can't expect me to deal with something of this magnitude until I'm ready for it. I don't care what Alanna says."

"You wouldn't be saying that if it was me where you are now," she said flatly.

The mage fell silent. This too worried her. When had Numair not protested something he was unhappy about?

"You're right," he said finally, his voice rough. Small feelings of triumph washed through her, but they were quickly overwhelmed by her guilt at forcing him into this. "But that doesn't mean I'm about to start now. It's not – it's not that easy, Daine."

Daine hadn't developed her reputation for stubbornness for no reason. She folded her arms, entirely prepared to argue this with him until he gave in. "I know," she told him, "but you can't just sit around here waiting to get better. You have to do something to help it. Look," she said, leaning forwards and resting her arms on the bed, before deciding that was too close to him and pushing herself upright again, "if you can't look at your leg yet, at least begin to walk on it more."

"I'll think about it," he said quietly, although he was looking across the room and away from her, and obviously had no intention of dwelling on the matter at all.

"Numair," Daine reminded him sternly, "Alanna told Raoul you should be learning to walk without a crutch by now. By more than a few weeks ago, in fact. It's about time you started to do it."

Numair glared at her suddenly, but Daine stood her ground. Even if he didn't like her telling him what to do, he clearly wasn't going to start doing it on his own, and Daine would just have to be the one to make him.

"We start today," she told him, standing up and returning to his leg. She unrolled a bandage, studying his face as she did so. It was set stubbornly, glaring at her, but she gave him stare for stare until he grimaced and sighed heavily.

"Fine," he muttered. "Later, after your lessons."

"No," she continued, lifting his foot as she began the process of bandaging his injured leg. "My lessons we can do later. We're better doing this now, so as you've no excuse that you're tired because of me when we're meant to be doing it."

"Daine," he began to protest, but then he felt silent. "After breakfast," he said finally, his voice withdrawn.

Daine hastily dropped her head so that he couldn't see her expression. If she had won her argument, then why were there tears in her eyes?

* * *

"I feel like when I was a teenager," Numair muttered. Despite the height difference, he was grasping tightly to her arm, and she to his elbow, supporting him as they paced slowly around his room. "Absolutely no control over my limbs." Numair looked up from his efforts and gave Daine a wry grin. "They were so long I didn't know quite what to do with them." 

She giggled. "I always imagined you'd be something like that."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I thought you'd look more like a stork or heron. All angles."

"Daine, if you gave your pony that dratted nickname -"

She burst out laughing as they skirted round his bed. "Cloud's more'n capable of coming up with things like that on her own, Numair. She doesn't need my help to make up insults."

The mage made a face. "I still don't see why she has to_ tell_ everyone about it."

Daine shrugged, watching his feet as they made their halting steps. "It's quite useful really. If I'm looking for you, for a lesson or some such, I just ask the People if they've seen the Stork-man, instead of describing you. Much easier - and quicker - to find you that way."

"Oh, I'm glad your life is made easier at my expense," he grunted.

She tilted her head to one side, stepping back a little so she could regard his movements. "You're more like a cat now anyway," she said quietly, voicing an opinion she'd held since their first meeting.

"A cat?"

She grinned. "Smooth. Feline grace," she laughed.

The mage chuckled lightly, even though his breath came hard. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and into his eye. Numair blinked furiously and scrubbed his face with his free hand. "Can we stop now?"

"Once more round the room," she instructed.

"You like being teacher far too much," he muttered breathlessly, but she ignored it.

"It won't get any easier if you don't practise it," she told him, reciting the lesson he had given her so many times when she was learning her magic.

"Why did I ever take you on?" he panted. "Life would have been so much easier, so much more peaceful –"

"So much more boring," she finished. "Think of how many of your papers you couldn't have written without me or Kit, or –"

"How dead I'd be, many times over."

"Exactly," she smiled. "You should've just stopped repeating yourself all the time, and then I wouldn't do it at you."

They were silent as they made the rest of their halting progress around the room, the only noise their shuffling steps and Numair's heavy breathing. Finally she led him to his chair, letting him drop into it with a deep sigh of relief.

"I'll need another bath if we carry on at this rate," he muttered. Daine obliged him, fetching through the ewer, wash bowl and cloth from his washing room and setting it on the table beside him. Numair made a face as the cold water sloshed over the side of the bowl, and shifted in his seat so he could reach to mop up the spillage. He rinsed the cloth and wrung it out over the bowl, before dropping it over his face with a low groan. She had thought to leave him when he didn't move for a several moments, but just as she was about to turn away, his voice, soft and strangled, came from under the cloth. "When will I start to feel right again, Daine?"

She froze where she was; so he had noticed the difference in him as well. Finally she edged closer to him, before dropping to her knees beside his chair. "I don't know," she said, equally as quiet.

His left hand rested on the cloth over his face, whilst the other sought out hers. He took a deep, shaking breath, and let it out slowly. "I don't want to feel like this anymore." She squeezed his hand tightly in response, urging him on silently. "I don't want to feel sullen, or irritated, or so helpless – Mithros, I want to stop that – or angry. Especially with you." The last words were forced out through barely moving lips and Daine had to strain herself to hear them.

"I don't want you to either, Numair," she assured him gently. "I want my teacher back." She forced down a hitching sob, but not quickly enough to hide it from him.

His grasp on her hand became almost deathly tight. "Believe me," he said vehemently, his voice broken and scratchy, "I want nothing more at the moment." His body made a shuddering movement, and Daine began to wonder if he was crying. She wanted to move to comfort him, but her body felt almost paralysed with her own grief; she _didn't_ want him to be like this. She wasn't used to seeing him feeling so weak, and she didn't like it at all. She wanted him to be Numair again. _Her_ Numair.

"Perhaps I should ask Abigail to help you," she said slowly, pushing down her own feelings of aversion in favour of Numair. "She could lend a hand with your walking, and you could – talk – to her about things. You seem quite friendly with her."

"I don't think –" Numair began, before he broke off. He cleared his throat before trying again. "I don't think she'd be – interested."

"Nonsense." Daine forced herself to smile. "I do. She talks about you more'n enough when you're not there, Numair. And I saw you two the other day. Close as close can be." She wiped her eyes roughly as Numair peeled the cloth from his face.

"You think so?" he asked, eyeing her closely.

Daine nodded, feeling worse and worse by the second. If this was what it took to help him though – she could make a sacrifice. It wasn't as if anything would come from her feelings anyway – they were just a teenaged crush and she knew it. "I do," she said, her voice sounding much stronger than she felt, nodding as she spoke. "You just need to perk yourself up a little bit, Numair. Maybe send a smile her way once in a while."

"I do," he protested. "It's just –" he paused, before he gestured finally in the direction of his leg.

"She cares no more about it than I do, Numair," Daine assured him. "She's never been a bit bothered by it. And it's like I said ages ago; your scars make you all the more handsome."

Numair snorted, but there was a small smile touching his lips. "That usually only applies to small scars, Daine, not ones that cover entire appendages."

"That's just silly," she told him. "What makes you look braver? A tiny little scar on your cheek, or one the length of your arm? And I bet you can't find a knight in that Palace who doesn't think that. Come on," she told him, offering him a hand to pull him to his feet. "Walk through to that kitchen now and show her how much you've done, and I wager she'll coo over you for the rest of the day."

Numair grimaced and brushed her hand away. "I can hardly go now," he said. "You've got lessons, and I – I look a mess," he finished.

Daine smiled; maybe her Numair was there after all. "Well, if we're not doing any experiments today, then I can just do book learning instead." She saw he was about to protest, but she ploughed on. "If I need help, I'll know where you are. And as for your looks –" she paused, pretending to eye him critically. "Maybe a shave would do it?" she suggested with a small smile.

Numair's hand went to his chin, tugging the stubble that grew there as he considered it. Finally he smiled, a real genuine smile that made her grin in response to it. "Yes, perhaps you're right."

_

* * *

Only a certain amount of evidence exists to prove the existence of the Green Lady, and the recent nature of it suggests that she herself is a newly-made Goddess, or that her constituency of care has altered significantly over a recent period. It can be asserted from the size of her domain and the matters with which she is entrusted that she has a minor rank in our Pantheon. The Lady's concerns coincide with several matters the Goddess herself is responsible for to a greater extent: she can be contacted in relation to childbirth, gardens, and certain domesticated issues. Her first recorded appearance was during the year 449H.E. over a – _

"There's a group of soldiers arrived, Numair. I didn't think we were due a change for another few days." Daine's puzzled voice dragged him away from his reading.

"We're not," he replied slowly. He pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room to the protective model slowly, leaning on one crutch. "Is there anyone you recognise?" he asked as he went.

There was a loud exclamation of welcome from the kitchen. "A few of the guards' horses, no more," she replied. His student slid out of her chair and moved towards the door, pulling it ajar and leaning through the doorway to investigate. "No Kitten," she added softly.

"Perhaps they'll bring her soon," he placated her softly as he sealed the space in the shield he had made for the arrivals, before returning to his seat and reaching for his book. If it was an important matter, someone would seek him out.

"George!" He had almost found his place when Daine's surprised tone made his head snap up. She backed through the doorway, allowing the man to pass. The baron entered the room with a warm smile for his friends, kissing Daine's cheek and patting Numair's shoulder before swinging into an empty chair as if he'd been gone for no more than a few minutes, not that they hadn't seen one another in months.

"What news do you bring?" Numair sat forward eagerly as his student sat down next to him, her excitement almost palpable.

George sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically at Daine. "And what kind of welcome is this for a friend you haven't seen in months? Not even an offer of a drink or an enquiry after my health before you begin demanding information."

Daine laughed and sprang to her feet before scurrying out of the room. Within moments she had returned from the kitchen with a tray laden with tea and food, closing the door behind her. As she served the refreshments, Numair's Gift swamped the room, protecting them from listening spells.

Finally, Numair could not wait any longer. "And?"

"And what?" George asked, taking a sip of his tea. He murmured appreciatively, then chuckled at the expression Numair wore. "Patience lad. The news won't have changed much since I left the palace, or not the news I have to tell you."

Numair sighed, beginning to pull apart the slice of cake Daine had placed on his plate.

"How are you? How's Alanna? And the children? Kitten? Onua? The king and queen?"

George put up his hand to stem Daine's stream of questions. "At least she asks how everyone is," he told Numair mockingly. "One of you remembers their manners, away from Court as long as you've been."

"Oh, Numair remembers his manners," Daine told George impishly. "It's just that you aren't his type."

"Daine!" he hissed, outraged.

The spymaster chuckled. "And how fares the Mistress Abigail these days? We've hardly heard hide nor hair from you, so she must be looking after you well," he finished slyly.

Numair could feel himself blushing. If he had to talk about these matters at all, he'd rather he did it when Daine wasn't there; it was hardly suitable material for his student's ears. He didn't want her to hear about when Abigail had kissed him four days previously, or the times it had happened since then. He didn't particularly want George to hear it either, knowing the mocking the spymaster was capable of giving. "Are you well George?"

George laughed outright at the change of subject. "Well enough, considering all events. I'm busy enough, with all the information I'm receiving."

"And what information is that?" he enquired.

George smiled and tapped his nose. "The usual. Rebels, riots, revolts. Invasions, imperial plans and warfare. More interesting everyday. Need to know only though."

"Nothing out of the ordinary then," Daine muttered sarcastically.

"Alanna and the children are well. She's been sent east to try and shore up the border. Seems Ozorne thought he'd try and create a rebellion in Tyra, so he could come through to us that way."

Numair sat up suddenly, hot fear running through him. "In Tyra?"

George gave him a sympathetic look. "They're safe Numair." Numair let out a heavy sigh as he felt the panic abate slightly. "We got wind of his plans long before they happened - tried to organise the Rogue into throwing over their Government, the fool," he grinned. "Your family - all of them that we could gather - are currently enjoying a tour of Tusaine."

"Is Tusaine the safest place for them to be?"

"Safer than Tyra or Tortall," George countered. "Ozorne can't get his claws in to Tusaine no matter how hard he tries. I don't admire the Tusaines for much but that."

"I thought no one expected war until the spring?" Daine asked quietly.

The spymaster sighed heavily. "Seems someone was feeding me the wrong information, lass. I can assure you, they aren't any more." He smiled cruelly and Daine shivered. "The latest is that Ozorne is implicating Jon in Prince Kaddar's rebellion plans. According to him, Jon was funding rebel lords in Carthak, inciting a slave uprising and plotting the downfall of the Carthak Empire."

"Do the other countries believe him?" Daine asked.

George shook his head. "Not according to their ambassadors, but they wouldn't tell us otherwise anyway, and Jon's gettin' all principled about us listening in on their rooms. The problem is, it's given his Imperial Majesty the excuse to attack."

"But can't anyone see what he's doing?" Daine exclaimed. "He's making an uprising in _Tyra_, of all places, and no one can see anything amiss?"

"I'm workin' on it, Mithros knows it! I can put information under the noses of my counterparts, but that don't mean they can see it, lass." He exhaled heavily, then growled, "Sometimes I think those Gallans are as blind as the Lady Shakith herself – no offence lass. Either that or Kyprioth's playin' tricks on me again. Feels like it anyhow. An' while I'm busy doing that, I'm getting more about attacks and army sizes and movements, and less and less from the Carthaki court."

"Anything serious yet?"

George shook his head. "A few immortal attacks here and there, but nothing we can't handle. There've been no real land battles yet, but he's made some attempts at landing along the southern coast. Most of Third Company and half of Second, along with a battalion or two of the regular Army have been sent south to defend us if needs be. Cavalry too. Mostly though, it's just naval battles in the Inland Sea. He's tried to come up the West Coast once, but the weather's on the turn and it's too dangerous even for him to risk all those men and resources."

"Send your prayers to the sea gods tonight," Numair advised Daine quietly.

"Something like that," George agreed grimly. "The fear is the Gods'll turn their eyes from us."

Daine shook her head. "They want him there no more than we do," she pointed out, before telling George about her visit from the Graveyard Hag.

The man listened with interest, one eyebrow raised. "And she said you'd face Ozorne again?" he checked.

"It sounded like it," she told him hesitantly. "She said we'd get our chance, anyway."

George nodded slowly. "We can only hope the omens stay on our side," he murmured. "We need all the help we can get."

Numair nodded softly, continuing to dissect the cake on his plate.

"Is there news of Kaddar?" Daine's voice made Numair stop suddenly, his fingers freezing in place as he listened closely without raising his head, trying very hard to make it look as if he wasn't.

George's voice, when it came, was regretful and hesitant. "We lost track of the Prince and Master Lindhall somewhere in Carthak, about two weeks after they escaped.

"You've not known where they are for nearly a month?" Daine exclaimed.

"We're doing our best," George replied defensively. "I can't have my people everywhere. I'm overstretched as it is. There's messengers all along the southern coast of the Eastern Lands, and along the Great Road East as well. I can't move those that are in Carthak around or put more in for fear of suspicion, and the information we get from them is so vital we can't risk losing it. I won't take out my sources from the Imperial Cabinet to track one of many discontented Carthaki Princes." He paused before adding, "I'm sorry Daine. We don't know where they are."

"I'm sure Kaddar is safe. Lindhall is with him," Numair reminded her.

"As soon as they're back in our sights, we'll escort them all the way to Corus if needs be," George promised them.

Still his student looked unsure. "The pair of them will be fine, Daine. Kaddar's practical magic is better than mine was when I left the university, even if his Gift isn't as strong, and Lindhall has a much better grasp on it than you'd think, for a sheltered academic," he told her with a wry smile. "They'll be perfectly safe."

"If you're sure," Daine said doubtfully.

Numair pushed down his own significant feelings of worry to force a smile for her. "They're probably half-way to Tortall already. Here before you know it, no doubt." _Then you can fuss over Kaddar all you want_, he thought, but kept it to himself. It wouldn't help Daine now to hear his bitter comments on their friendship.

The girl sat back in her chair, looking slightly more at ease. "You're right," she nodded. "Maybe I'm concerned over nothing." She leaned in to pour George another mug of tea. "So how is life without us?" A mischievous smile had covered her face. "Boring and dull?"

* * *

Numair had given up on sleep hours ago. His night had been filled with the same repetitive nightmares; his accident in Carthak replaying before his eyes, his leg hurting afresh. Now, added to the scene, came images of what would have happened if Daine hadn't managed to find a way to escape, and the possibilities of his life at Ozorne's hands. He generally woke just as the blade came down on Daine's neck. 

There was another thing that was preventing him from sleeping, though. Numair had an awful sense that _something_ was about to go horribly wrong and that he should do his best to prevent it from doing so, although he wasn't quite sure what it was.

Instead, he was sitting in his bed waiting for whatever it was to happen. He had performed every test and exploration he could without knowing exactly what it was that was wrong. He had even considered that it was simply a leftover sensation of dread from his dreams, from watching the execution of his student prior to his own, and from having to relive time and time again crashing into the water of the Zekoi with searing leg pain, only to wake and find that not all of it had been imagined. The nervousness and sick apprehension that currently held him was not a product of that though.

However, as dawn broke over Corus on the shortest day of the year, he was suddenly able to pinpoint what it was that was so amiss with the atmosphere that gripped the city, and no doubt the country too. There was a roaring around his ears, as if a magical avalanche collapsed over his head. He could hear the barrier that divided the mortal and immortal realms stretching, screeching loudly, and then snapping entirely before vanishing with a loud _crack_. The noise was almost deafening, but Numair was very aware that those without magical senses would be unable to hear it entirely. Even the quality of air felt different now, almost as if everything it touched was made transparent and that distance was no longer an issue.

He could feel Jonathan at his desk, leaping to his feet in a flurry of paperwork; Duke Baird sitting down hard in his chambers as shock washed over him. His side ached with the thud as Harailt of Aili fell from his bed. Onua's scream as she leapt from her morning bath echoed through his ears. Even the hedgewitch who lived in the house across the street, who had so small a Gift that it barely registered on his senses, dropped to her knees in horror, a hand to her heart as what must have been the Gods showed their displeasure.

But Numair knew it wasn't the Gods. Most of all, though, he could _feel_ her.

Upstairs, Daine sat bolt upright in her lonely bed, her room empty but for a few small mice. He could_ feel_ how much she hated that companionless bed, this friendless house. He could see her lips open in surprise and her eyes blink away sleep as if she were in the bed next to him, not separated by a mountain of stairs and walls. He reached out to touch her in his mind's eye, and could swear he felt the mist of her breath on his fingers, the silk of her hair under his hands, the soft, smooth skin of her cheek.

And Numair discovered something new. Something that he'd known was dwelling within him for some time that he'd never quite been able to put a name to, or elaborate on. And now, not only did he know _what_ that something was but he desperately wanted to act upon that impulse.

And yet he also knew he couldn't.

All of this happened in the same instant, and it was completely overwhelming for the mage. At the same time as something catastrophic was happening around him, something which should have gripped every fibre of him, his magical senses burning with awareness, this new information threatened to swamp him, his nerves tingling with fresh knowledge.

There was something else though, as overwhelming as the new feelings that engulfed him and the magical upheaval were, that bothered him almost more than anything he had felt since he had woken. It was a tickle at first, a sensation of a dark shadow that he knew was there, but couldn't quite see, and that wasn't tangible enough to feel.

And Numair didn't like it at all.


	14. Chapter 13: Midwinter's Bite

**It's later than I promised, and shorter than usual, I know! I'm posting it because I need to sort out the sickly-sweet Daine who seems to have appeared in what would be the third part of this chap, and because if I finish the chap as I planned to, it'll be 6000+ words or something equally ridiculous. So instead, I'll just have to stretch it out for you! And I need to get _something_ out!!! If it seems a little rough and/or weak, it's because I've read it through so many times in the past three weeks, I can't see the words anymore. Always handy.**

**As always, I really appreciate all your reviews, and if I don't thank you personally, it's not because I'm taking them for granted. The more reviews (I get) the merrier (I'll be)! Thanks to all of you!!! And Happy New Year to all of you!**

**As per usual, the majority of characters used here are the creation of Tamora Pierce – those who you don't recognise are mine. I'm just borrowing them.**

**Chapter 13**

* * *

Daine was aching all over. She didn't know what had woken her, but it echoed right through her and made her bones throb with pain. Her first reaction was to cry out to Numair, though she bit her lip and held it back. Something wasn't right though, she could tell that much through the haze of sleep that gripped her. 

As she became more awake, it became more apparent what that was. Thousands of voices clamoured across the city, and she realised suddenly that she couldn't only hear the People; she knew what humans were saying as well. Across Corus and the surrounding countryside, animals shrieked, howled or hissed in protest at the upheaval around them. "Hush," she whispered in attempt to calm them all, "you'll scare the two-leggers."

She doubted, though, how much effect the behaviour of the animals would have on the Gifted and Horse-hearted now. She could tell from their own agitated voices that they were scared enough without anything the People did to worsen it.

She murmured soothing words, knowing that her magic conveyed them to all the People that needed them. Kitten, on the other hand, she could hear without any magical assistance, as the dragon's angry whistles and shrieks drifted across the city. She had gone so long without seeing the dragon that the sound of Kitten should have made her smile. Now though, as her senses tingles with discomfort and the dragon's obvious distress only upset her further, she only wished she couldn't hear it.

Now Alanna's voice clearly joined the fray. "Goddess curse it. Kitten, _hush!_ I'll fetch your Ma and she won't be pleased knowing your making all this fuss." This tugged at Daine's mouth, as the dragon fell abruptly silent. "Meeting?" the Lioness asked. She had clearly returned from the south-eastern border.

"Now," King Jonathan's bodiless voice confirmed. Even without the sight of the man, Daine found him authoritative. "All my mages and commanders in the War Council rooms immediately, unless already assigned posts. Those who have been are to stay there until further instructions." His tone made it clear that he meant her and Numair.

Several murmurs of "Yes, your Majesty," could be heard. Many of the human voices abruptly fell silent, until whispers of "The King?" began to reverberate around the city.

"I urge calm on you, people of Tortall. We will gather and distribute information very soon. Until then, please, I pray peace and patience upon you. Mithros and the Mother will guide us if they will it, so mote it be."

Daine whispered her own prayer as the words echoed across the city. For a moment, even the animals seemed to have been moved into silence, but after only seconds, voices, both human and People, filled her ears again.

She was dressing behind her screen when, as abruptly as it had all began, all fell silent. Restricted to only hearing the People, she felt strangely deaf as she made her way downstairs. The household was almost entirely silent; only a few of its occupants had any form of magic, and whilst she doubted they would have slept through _that_ experience, Daine thought they would know better than to disturb Numair when he was no doubt already beginning to conduct experiments and form theories on the experience. The rest would be asleep, enjoying the chance for rest brought by the festival and most likely completely unaware of events so far.

Most knew not to disturb Numair at a time like this, she thought with a wry smile as she eyed his sparkling doorknob, but not her. Gingerly she tested it with one finger, then turned it, smiling as it clicked open. Either he wanted only her to come in, or he wanted to make it look as if he needed to be left alone.

The mage didn't even blink as she entered the room, only gestured for her to close the door behind her with a nod of his head. Both his hands were occupied cupping a globe of magic. A speaking spell.

"What do you suspect?" Harailt of Aili asked through the spell.

"You know as well as I do what that was, Harailt," the man said drily. "The barrier between the Realms has vanished completely."

"You're positive?"

"I don't know why we're so surprised," the mage in front of her muttered irritably. "It's been drawn and stretched in so many places by Ozorne and his mages that without strengthening spells of some kind, which I doubt Ozorne would have thought of or wanted to do, then it would have had to happen at some point. Perhaps the weakening of the natural divisions between the realms precipitated it, but it was almost a certainty."

"Them that go on the rack have to break some time." Daine recognised the Lord Provost's burr.

"Charming," she heard a more refined voice mutter. Daine and Numair exchanged glances. That was a conservative, as sure as she was Daine Sarrasri.

Numair continued as if uninterrupted. "The Immortals will now be able to cross between Realms without needing a portal for them." Somebody on the other side of the spell swore. "Exactly," Numair murmured, shaking his head edgily. "For now, there's nothing we can do but wait."

There was a heavy sigh. "Is Daine with you?" Jonathan asked.

"I'm here," she put in.

"Do the animals have much to say on the matter?" Somebody snorted and was hushed immediately.

Numair looked murderous, but she ignored the noise, focusing instead on the People. Listening to their voices even as she spoke herself, she told them regretfully, "No. No more than panic and confusion, from what I can tell. Same as most of the humans," she added deliberately, causing a few chuckles. Numair glanced at her warningly, but his mouth twitched in a smile. "I'll keep an ear on them though, and see if they can find anything interesting for you."

"Thank you," was the reply. "And immortals – can you sense any in the vicinity?"

Again Daine sifted through the coloured spots that were a mark of life in her mind. "None that weren't there before, and most of them harmless. There's a herd of unicorns in the Royal Forest, a few undines here and there, the centaurs we treated with last May, six, seven – no, eight Stormwings flying south."

That brought a rumble of discontent. "Any you recognise?" Numair prompted.

"None. And – Numair, are there such things as winged monkeys?"

"Not that we have experience of. What makes you sure that's what they are?"

"It's just what they feel like. A primate that's not quite right."

"If I've learnt anything in recent years, it's that just because I haven't heard of them before, it doesn't mean they don't exist," Jonathan's voice came. "Harailt, set someone to researching that as soon as we leave."

"Certainly."

"Meanwhile we have to find out whose side, if any at all, they're on," Alanna put in. "Where are they?"

"North of Corus, flying north-west."

"Out to sea?" Buri asked.

"Keep an eye on their movements and keep me informed, Daine," Jon ordered. "And of any other immortals that come into the area that aren't known to be friendly species. The more warning we have of any attack, the more prepared we can be."

"How do we know they'll attack now? They could gain more from waiting," Lord Raoul put in.

"He's right. If they strike _after_ the passes clear, they come with the Carthaki Army," Alanna said steadily. "Almost an advanced guard. They can create havoc, and whilst we're distracted by that, Ozorne can strike elsewhere. Before the passes clear though, and we still have problems – Ozorne might not be able to move an army, but neither can we. They could run riot in pockets without word getting to us, or worse, trap our people in with them."

"Massacre," Thayet said with horror.

"Either way, we lose," Buri finished grimly.

"So what would you suggest we do?" Wyldon of Cavall's voice was dry. "Picket a squad of the Own or a group of Riders in every fief? Spread the army across the country? If the Carthakis attack one point –" He trailed off, leaving them to contemplate the grim consequences.

"'Divided we fall'" Jonathan said finally, quoting part of the old proverb.

"They could pick each group off as they come. That isn't how we operate," Raoul growled.

"We can't afford to send groups out now and keep them out till the summer. Our resources won't stretch to that." Daine recognised the voice of one of Raoul's commanders, Linden. "I'd wager that the Riders and the Regulars couldn't manage that either."

Murmured noises of agreement came from his counterparts.

Jonathan sighed exasperatedly. "And what would you have me do? I've already beggared the country once in my reign. I can buy food for my subjects or for my soldiers. We have no guarantee of support from anyone yet. Not the Gallans, the Marenites – even the Tyrans are unwilling to trade with us with war hanging over our heads, and over theirs too. The Yamani Isles possibly, if Mithros and the Goddess are with the Baron of Mindelan."

"So work for now on the basis that the majority of Immortals are working with or are controlled by our Southern friend," George put in, returning pointedly to the subject. "From what we know, that seems most likely. They've worked together before, controlled or otherwise, in Dunlath, at the Swoop, in Legann," George reeled off a list of places that seemed almost endless. "We know for certain they've an allegiance with at least _some_ of the Stormwings. We saw that in Carthak. Some may be swayed to our side, same as with the ogres, if they're willing to join with us again."

"Douglass of Veldine is Regent in Dunlath. Contact him," Jonathan instructed.

Numair nudged Daine and cleared his throat, indicating that she should speak. "You'd be better off speaking to Maura, I'd wager," she said loudly. "She holds the ear of the ogres. Mayhap Tkaa should do it."

There was silence for a moment. "Yes, yes, you're quite right," Jon agreed finally. "Find Master Tkaa," he ordered someone, and a moment later, a door slammed shut.

Someone, Daine wasn't sure who, muttered, "A fine thing, when it comes to asking parentless girls with traitorous families to form alliances for a King."

The comment had been soft, but not soft enough to escape the sharpness of the Queen's hearing. "Do you suggest my Sire's family is untrue to the country? I might remind you that if it were not for Lady Maura, the situation in Dunlath may have been far worse. Or do you just slight our method of rule?"

No conservative, no matter how outspoken he was in private, or when he thought no one heard, would dare answer _that_. The table fell quiet. Daine could almost picture the look on Thayet's face – she'd seen her talk to trainees like that before – and the daring ones that would no doubt be etched on those of the Champion and the Commander of the Queen's Riders, with their hands resting on their hilts. If anyone was caught saying anything of the like for the rest of the meeting, she doubted they could be held responsible for their actions.

"Lady Maura might also be in contact with Rikash Moonsword of the Stone Tree Nation," Numair said in the silence. "You may also want to speak to her to establish an alliance with the Stone Trees." He exchanged glances with Daine. "We have reason to believe in their loyalty."

There was a murmuring from the speech globe. "I'll prepare that letter later," Jonathan said finally.

"Now, Raoul; what's the situation like in the South?"

* * *

It was the first council meeting she and Numair had been privy to for months, and Daine listened carefully, trying to absorb all the details rather than hearing them second, or even third hand, for once. Numair however, fidgeted throughout the meeting, flinching and jerking his head as if he could see something out of the corner of his eye. 

"Are you all right?" she whispered to him finally.

"I'm fine," he told her, although she could tell he was anything but. He looked surprised that she had even noticed him doing it. The meeting slowly wound down, tactics discussed. There was little they could do to defend the country until something actually happened, but Daine still felt useless all the same. It didn't seem like she and Numair would be able to help the situation anytime in the coming future. As Numair flinched again, Daine decided that he must be feeling as frustrated as she was; he wasn't normally so restless.

Finally, Numair cleared his throat over the sounds of people leaving. "Jon, I need a word with some of you." He glanced at Daine and away again quickly. "In private."

Daine raised her eyebrows in a silent question, but Numair shook his head, and then nodded towards the door. His student frowned but he gestured towards the door again. This time she complied; sighing softly, she touched his arm lightly in a farewell, before leaving the room. Numair sent a wave of magic after her, sealing the door as she left.

"What's troubling you Numair?"

"I – who's still with you? I need Harailt too. And Sir Raoul and Buri," he added as an afterthought.

"I'm here," his colleague confirmed, and Buri murmured her agreement.

"Raoul's still in the south-east," Jonathan explained. "We were communicating through a spell. Linden of Glebe's Way is Commander of the First in Corus. Will he suit your purposes? Thayet, my Lord Provost, Alanna, George, Myles and Captain Fletcher of the Palace Guard are here as well," the King added. "Why? Do you want them to go?"

"No, stay," Numair instructed. "It's important, a matter of security. When the barrier fell this morning, did you _feel_ anything?"

He could hear the frown in Harailt's voice. "'Feel'? Other than the complete magical chaos?"

"It was a slight feeling." For once, Numair struggled for the words to describe the sensation. "There's something – someone – out there with a great power of some sort. Didn't you sense them? It was malicious, whatever it was."

"Was it a human?" Alanna asked.

"Yes – I mean, I think so. Did your ember not warn you of it?"

"It was too busy warning me about everything else that was going on for me to notice," the Lioness snapped.

"Alanna," Numair heard George's soft voice, then the Lioness's frustrated sigh.

"Did any of you feel anything?" Numair pressed.

"I didn't," Jon replied. "Did your Sight alert you to anything, George?"

"Nothin'," the man replied. "But you know it's not much use in things like this. You'd be better asking my Ma if she felt it than me."

"My lady never said she sensed anything 'malicious' this morning when she described it," Myles put in. "However, she was quite overcome by the entire thing, so there's a large chance she missed it. I'll ask around and see if anyone in the Palace felt anything like you related."

"We need to hurry," Numair emphasised.

"Is this – sensation – a threat to the city?" Linden enquired.

Numair sighed in aggravation. "Yes," he replied finally. "It's dangerous."

"Can you feel it now? The 'sensation'?"

"Yes, it's – it's –" he broke off, frowning. Whatever it was, it was moving.

"What is it?" Harailt prompted.

Numair frowned, trying to pinpoint the source of the feeling as he did other's magical Gifts. "It's on the Conté Road, not far from where it crosses the Olorun."

"How close to the City Gates?" Alanna enquired.

"A mile, maybe two. Can you scry for it?"

"I'll do it," Alanna volunteered.

"Can we close the Gates?" Captain Fletcher asked.

"Will the Gates be enough to stop it?" Thayet enquired.

"Only if they don't want to draw attention to themselves by attacking," Numair replied.

"Closing the Gates will only cause panic in the Lower City," George put in. "The rest of the city'll hear of it, and they'll want to know _why_ they were shut, an' _why_ their relatives can't get in an' out, and what's goin' on. Do we have an answer?"

"No," Jon said frankly. "We don't want to draw attention to it if at all possible."

"If it's as serious a threat as Numair suggests, then we don't want to provoke an attack if we can help it."

"We need to do something, though," Numair argued. "If I can get to Balor's Needle, or somewhere high, I can pin-point the source for you."

"You must stay where you are, Numair. That's an order." King Jonathan's stern voice came floating through from the glowing ball of magic.

He hadn't expected his suggestion to be taken seriously, but he had to at least try. "But there's someone out there, Jon. Whoever it is needs to be taken care of _now_."

"If it was so important, why didn't you say something earlier?" Thayet asked.

"I've had Daine sitting next to me the whole time," he explained. "I don't want her to be more worried than she needs to be. She's done enough of that recently."

"Perhaps," the Commander said thoughtfully, "the best thing you can do is to wait. If they sense movement, then surely they'll know they've been detected. And if they don't, maybe we can use that to lure them in."

After a moment's silence, Numair uttered in disbelief, "Do you propose to use us as _bait_?"

"It's a sound enough plan," Buri mused.

"No. No!" Numair exclaimed. "You can't use us to draw them in! I thought the entire point of us being in this gods-forsaken hole was to keep us safe and _hidden_."

"I don't like it," Thayet said. "He has a point."

"But the best way to draw a fish is to keep still, is it not?" Myles put in.

Numair was speechless for a moment in anger. Finally he managed to string together a few words. "Not with Daine in the house."

"We can't move her," George said. "For the same reason that we can't move you."

"So we have to wait for whoever this is to come into the city? If they start wreaking havoc in the Lower City, it'll be too late for us to do anything about getting to safety, because we're _in_ it." Normally he wouldn't question George's suggestions in matters like this, or anyone with any real military experience really, but this was something different altogether. This was his and Daine's safety.

"You're staying put," Jon reiterated. "And that's final," he added sternly when Numair let out a hiss of anger. "We'll discuss this more later. Contact me when you know more, Numair. Anything."


	15. Chapter 14: Unwelcome Truths

**Look! An update! (Look, no revision done!) You'll be glad to know I solved the sickly-sweet Daine problem… I deleted her. Meh. Anyway, thank you so much for your reviews as always, I really look forwards to reading them. **

**Just to clear up any confusion about the last chap – when the barrier fell, Numair felt something suspicious which he couldn't quite put his finger on. When he mentioned this to Jon & co, and that he wanted either to do something about it or to move, they refused – if the whatever-it-was felt them moving, it could be pushed into attack. For the same reason, they didn't want to shut the city gates, which would also create uproar in the city. They also have a vague hope of catching the 'presence', which is the other reason why they want them to stay in Golden Wood. Jon goes with it because he's following the suggestions of military people and George, who knows the Lower City best out of the lot of them. As you can imagine, Numair is hardly enamoured with that solution. Anyway, hope this helps, and doesn't make it any worse!**

**The characters who are not Abigail, Lachann, Ùisdean, Tormos or miscellaneous unnamed guards belong to Tamora Pierce. I take full claim for the twisted plot as well.**

**Chapter 14**

* * *

Unable to do anything more than wait and with Ùisdean warned about the 'something', Numair had prowled the kitchen in frustration, muttering in anger and generally getting in Abigail's way as she prepared their traditional Midwinter's Feast, although on a somewhat smaller scale to what Numair was used to, until she had finally put him to use chopping vegetables.

She was eyeing his work with displeasure when Daine finally joined them, her cheeks flushed. Abigail turned to her as she shrugged her coat off. "Does he normally make a mess of cutting vegetables like this?" she said, gesturing to the raggedly chopped carrots.

"Not normally, no," Daine replied. "But normally we're on the road, and he's not normally acting like a caged lion either."

"Apparently not," the woman muttered, picking up the pile and dumping them unceremoniously into a pot. She went to place more in front of the mage, before hesitating.

"Give them to me," Daine pulled the board towards her and began to cut. Numair studied her closely, whilst trying to make it look as if he wasn't. Her cheeks were rosy and a smile was curling at the corners of her lips, even though as long as he'd known her Daine hadn't enjoyed Midwinter. He had heard her giggling loudly earlier with one of the soldiers – Lachann, he remembered belatedly, the one that he had less than feelings for since that time at breakfast, who would of course be the one that she had chosen to spend her time with – out in the stables. In theory, she was caring for one of the horses who had been complaining of stomach problems, but it hadn't sounded like much treatment was going on. The fact that it was Lachann's horse who had apparently been complaining added to Numair's suspicions.

He was drumming his fingers loudly, trying to force those thoughts from his mind as he focused on the dark impression in his mind and what was so familiar about it, when the male in question walked back into the house from the courtyard. Numair had to keep his gaze from snapping to him, instead increasing the speed of his fingers. Lachann passed close behind Daine, closer than was strictly necessary, what with the three feet of kitchen on the other side of him, and Numair's seat afforded him a view of the surreptitious touch on Daine's shoulders. His students face grew redder, and her chopping became more determined, her smile wider, as he passed.

Numair managed to keep his mouth clamped tightly shut until the soldier was almost out the door, before the words spilled out. "Is your horse better now?" _Almost_, he cursed silently.

The man stopped in his tracks, before spinning to face the table. "Sorry?"

"Your horse. Daine said she was complaining of stomach problems."

"Oh. Yes, Sweetbrier has – had –"

"She was a bit colicky, that's all," Daine interrupted. "Swallowed a bit too much grit, had our Sweetbrier."

'Our'? Numair knew he was reading far too much into the words, but he couldn't help himself, and Daine's interruption seemed a bit too convenient. "Colic is quiet serious in horses, isn't it?"

"Early stages," Daine said, refusing to meet his eyes, her gaze concentrated solely on the food she was preparing. "Not too serious yet. I just thought I'd catch it early and save some problems later."

"Yes, and now she's fine, isn't she, Daine? Absolutely lovely. Your student does some lovely work." Lachann, on the other hand, had no problems making eye contact with him, but his face paled somewhat when Numair transferred his glare to him.

"She does, doesn't she?" Numair agreed lightly, not bothering to keep the irritation from his voice. "She sounded like she was having fun too."

Daine's foot connected soundly with his right shin. Numair wondered why she even tried; she had to know it wouldn't dissuade him.

"Sweetbrier was just telling me some interesting stories about Lachann, and he was doing his best to prove they weren't true, that's all." She finally raised her eyes to his, glaring darkly. "Apparently she dumped him for getting too cocky with his riding tricks just last week," she said through gritted teeth.

"Really," Numair said, sounding vaguely disinterested.

"Presents," Abigail interrupted. "Numair, have you swapped presents with Daine yet? You'll have to see the dress he gave me, Daine," the woman continued. His student gave her a grateful smile for causing a distraction. "Absolutely lovely. I don't know who he got to get it for him. And I bought you some new clothes last time I was out. A new dress that I think'll bring out your eyes. Why don't you go and try it on?" she asked pointedly, taking the girl by the elbow and steering her out of the room. Lachann, Numair noticed, had taken the opportunity to escape already. _Coward_.

When Abigail came back into the kitchen, she sat in Daine's vacated chair, taking up the knife and beginning to work. For a moment she sat in silence, the only noise the monotonous thud of the knife meeting the board beneath it and the bubbling of a pot over the fire. Finally Abigail spoke. "She's a growing girl, Numair. You can't keep protecting her and scaring away her potential suitors, you know." The woman hadn't looked at him so far, but now she wiped the knife on her apron, placing it on the board beside the vegetables and holding his gaze firmly. "She won't thank you for it."

Numair sighed irritably. "I know. But he – he's not – he's not _suitable_ for her."

"And why ever not?" Abigail asked, her eyebrows raised. "He's a member of the Own. I think his father's a prominent merchant in the south; due to be made a Baron I heard. She won't find a much better match than that, not being noble herself," she said pointedly.

Now it was Numair's turn to look away. He was confused, to say the least, by particular… revelations of the morning. He did, however, know one thing for certain. "When the time comes for Daine to start thinking about matches, she'll be able to do far better than him. The Own can't even marry," he pointed out. "Besides, if she stays working for the king she'll be a rich woman in her own right one day."

"And when the time comes for Daine to start thinking about matches, Numair, she'll be doing it thinking more about her happiness than your approval, and as she should be." The woman patted his arm sympathetically. "She has to grow up sometime, you know. Boys are going to be a part of that. You'll be far happier when you accept that."

"Thanks," Numair muttered darkly.

The woman sighed softly and shook her head in exasperation, then leaned in and kissed his cheek, before rising. "Think about it," she advised.

When Daine rejoined them, she was carrying a large leather parchment roll. "Where should we go?"

"Why not go through to the study?" Abigail suggested. "It won't be long until the meal's served, and you can keep him," she nodded towards Numair, "out of my way."

Apparently Daine could get along with Abigail when it involved mocking him. She grinned. "Come on, Numair."

Abigail followed the two through to the study with a pile of cutlery. The table, instead of being covered in books and parchment as it was normally, was covered in a white bed sheet which was serving as a tablecloth, with sprigs of holly as decoration. Daine sat in one of the large armchairs by the fire, leaving Abigail to fuss over the table, and Numair slid into the seat opposite her.

"Here," she said, offering him the roll. "It's not much, really, but it was the best I could do from in here."

Untying the strings, Numair let the leather and its contents unfurl before him. Several leafs of parchment, each baring the fluid scrawl of a Palace scribe, were contained inside. He looked closer at the titles, his mouth hanging open in astonishment. "Daine, these must have cost you a fortune," he managed finally, his voice rough.

His student was sitting back in her chair smugly. "Just because half the Palace are scared of _you_, doesn't mean they are of me. Friends in the scribes."

"So that's your secret," he whispered. "Still, must have cost you more than a bit."

She shrugged, sounding complacent, although he knew her better. "It's worth it. Now I won't have to listen to you moan about all the scrolls you need when we're studying." Her voice took on an uncertain quality. "Those _are_ the ones you need the most, aren't they?"

He smiled. "They are," he reassured her. "I hadn't realised you still listened to me talking about them." She grinned guiltily, and Numair reached across the table to grasp her hand, squeezing it tightly. "Thank you." She smiled into his eyes and Numair felt his stomach squirm. He dropped both her hands and his eyes quickly, breaking contact with her. "Here," he said, fishing into his shirt pocket instead and pulling out a small, wrapped package.

She too was blushing as she took the box from him. He watched her closely as she unwrapped the gilded paper, feeling far tenser than he had last Midwinter, when her reaction to a pair of sapphire earbobs seemed so much less important than it was now. He forced the feeling down, gritting his teeth as he did so, and smiled as he felt Abigail's eyes on him. She gave him an odd look, but turned her attention away and back to the table she was laying.

"Do you like it?" he asked before he could keep the question in.

Daine's face was a strange mix of emotions. He could see her eyes were shining and threatening to overspill as she stared at the contents of the small box, but she was positively beaming even as she did. "Numair, what can I say? How can I not like it? This is – thank – I mean – this is wonderful. Thank you." She leaned across and gently kissed his cheek. Numair suddenly found himself flushing at a gesture which yesterday wouldn't have affected him in the slightest.

She rubbed an eye with the heel of her hand as she pulled the trinket out of its box to study the item closer. Numair stood and walked around to stand behind her, leaning over her shoulder for a better look.

Cupped in her hand Daine held a small miniature portrait detailing Kitten and Cloud.

This close to her, he could feel her shaking slightly, and he had to stop himself from reaching out to comfort her. He cursed silently. These sudden new feelings were even more overwhelming than he had anticipated them to be. He had to ­_control_ himself. Instead, he pushed awareness of her away and concentrated on the painting. All Cloud's stubbornness shone through the painting, and the artist had even managed to bring out the slight rosy touch to Kitten's scales; exactly the same shade she turned when she was having attention paid to her. Numair smiled. Even if he hadn't been there to do it in person, he had at least managed to find a way to lavish attention on the dragonet. Still, he imagined that getting Kitten to sit still for so long would have been a task _he_ could have happily relinquished. Perhaps Volney Rain deserved an extra noble or two in payment.

* * *

"Are you sure you're all right?"

Numair glanced at her guiltily, accepting a dish as he did so. "I'm fine, magelet. Why wouldn't I be?"

Daine raised an eyebrow at him, but he was helping himself to potatoes. "Well, you've been acting like a trapped bear all morning, flinching and growling, and it's been worse since you spoke to the King this morning. Then you were trying to warn Lachann off like you did Kaddar, when he hadn't done _anything_, and you've barely said two words since we sat down."

He passed the bowl to her. "Lachann hasn't… he's done nothing?"

"No," she said defensively, "and even if he had, I can look after myself."

"I know," he said vaguely, although with a ghost of a smile touching his lips. She sighed audibly, and Numair glanced at her again. "What?" he said innocently.

"What was your conversation about this morning?" Before he could divert her attention and avoid answering any longer, she added, "The one with the King? It sounded serious."

Numair shrugged, sampling the food on his plate. "It was just magical concerns. I thought it would bore you."

She fixed him with a glare that told him precisely how much she believed him. His cheeks coloured slightly and he turned back to his food. "It's nothing for you to worry about, Daine. Not yet anyway."

"Will it be?"

"Have I told you that you look lovely today, Daine? Abigail was right; the dress suits you well."

She flushed slightly under his attentions, but persisted anyway. "Numair," she said sternly.

"If it does, you'll be the first to know," he assured her. "Now, may I eat?"

Daine sighed again, muttering discernibly about irksome mages who ought to know better, and who would very soon find mice living in their wardrobes, and turned her attention to her own plate, listening to the chatter around them. When she was younger, she had enjoyed the excitement of the festival, even if it _was_ cold. It just meant spring would be on them all the sooner, and then there were nestlings, lambs and other new animals to watch and help. Since she had come to Tortall though, or more accurately, since her family had been killed only a few weeks after the festival, Daine found it harder to enjoy. Onua, Numair and the others had always made a special effort during the festival, and pretended that they didn't notice she was quiet whilst shooting concerned looks at one another over her head. What she wouldn't have given to have spent the day with all her friends again, instead of one, twitching, anxious mage who was acting very strangely towards her indeed.

Numair, who was reaching for the pepper mill at that point, suddenly jolted, his hand knocking his goblet of wine over with a thud. "He's here."

Abigail, already half out of her seat and mopping the spilled wine, froze. "Who is?"

Numair, Daine realised, was shaking badly. "Hadensra."

Abigail swore.

"Who's Hadensra?" Daine asked. Numair, on the other hand, was looking at Abigail curiously.

"Hadensra," he said distractedly, "is a Scanran mage. He works only for the Council of Ten, and he's very, _very_ dangerous. He's absolutely ruthless, in fact. Plucked out his own eye to increase his power. He has the potential to be a Black Robe, but he decided to relinquish the chance when he was studying – he could ensure his magic was broadly based that way. I've been able to sense him since this morning, but I couldn't tell it was him until now. If he's _here_ – today – I don't think it can be coincidence."

"Scanra must have allied with Carthak then." There was a round of cursing, soft prayers and Signs against Evil made by the guards sitting with them. "The King must be told," Ùisdean said, rising. "Can you summon a messenger bird, Daine? I'm assuming you don't want to use your magic any more than necessary, Numair."

Numair nodded, although he was still staring at Abigail curiously.

"What?" she asked finally.

"How do you know who Inar Hadensra is?"

Abigail laughed dismissively. "Do you really think the Spymaster would have put me here if I didn't know who our potential enemies are? I'm not stupid. I find it smarter to know my enemies before they know me."

"I don't mean to imply –" Numair said, but Abigail waved her hand, cutting him off.

"What do you need?"

He smiled gratefully at her. "My letter desk. Daine, the bird?"

"She's coming. You'll need to widen the hole in the wards for her though."

Numair's eyed opened wide and he swore. "The wards," he whispered.

"Will he be able to sense them?" Ùisdean asked.

"I don't know," he said, one hand rubbing his forehead as he thought. "I don't know if the spell is consummate enough to hide them from a mage of his standards. I didn't think it'd be necessary to have them concealed so that only a black mage could find them – only enough to keep them from a university mage. I didn't know they'd have Hadensra on side!" He slammed his hand onto the table in frustration, making Daine jump. "The wards are coming down. I have to. I can't risk it. He won't be able to sense we're here – I know I've shielded myself against that – but there's a possibility he might be able to sense the wards."

Daine didn't think he'd make an error like that, but he seemed so convinced… "And if he senses the wards, he'll come to investigate," she put in.

Numair nodded distractedly as he turned his attention to the guards. "You'll know better than I what needs to be done. I can shield us from magical attack if and when necessary, but you need to guard against other kinds."

Ùisdean nodded. "I want those of you with bows to position themselves in the windows upstairs. Sword- and spearmen in the courtyard. Those round about need to be signalled. Tormos," he said, naming the mage in the squad, "that's your job. Open the scrying mirrors, and place one in each of the upstairs rooms, and give one to Graham. You'll be in charge of the group in the courtyard. I'm staying with the archers in the house."

The men nodded and began to move immediately, and in spite of herself, Daine was impressed. If she had ever doubted that these men had been placed here to guard them, she didn't now.

"Numair," she prompted. "The wards."

"Of course." The mage, looking tense and distracted, pushed himself to his feet unsteadily. Daine offered him her hand, but he steadily ignored it, grasping the back of his chair instead. Ùisdean caught her eye and raised his brows, but she shook her head and shrugged, turning to leave and meet the messenger bird instead. As she left the room though, from the corner of her eye she saw Abigail offer the mage her arm and Numair smile gratefully as he accepted it. A curious feeling bubbled in her stomach as she watched them together, but Daine forced the feeling away and concentrated on the situation at hand, bounding up the stairs instead.

* * *

"Is Midwinter always this exciting around you?"

Daine glanced at Lachann as she readied her bow. They were both in her room, Lachann peering cautiously out of the window with his loaded crossbow in hand already.

"I can't say it's ever been quite like this," she offered, testing her draw. "What use are unspelled arrows against a mage anyway?"

"Not much against one with a shield." The soldier was fingering through his quiver, selecting and rearranging bolts. "Unprepared ones though…"

"Daine?" She turned to find the captain of the guards lingering in her doorway. "Can I have a word? About Numair."

She glanced at Lachann who was leaning out of the window, and decided that if she would confide in any of the soldiers in the house, it would be him, before gesturing for Ùisdean to come in.

"What's going on with Numair?"

Daine shrugged. "If I had any more idea than you did, I'd tell you."

"He's acting strangely though, yes?"

She nodded her head in confirmation, and Ùisdean ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "The wards," he began. "Would he make a mistake like that if we were elsewhere?"

"Not that I've known him to," she told the guard honestly. "When he's hurried, maybe, but he spent hours on the shields, and Mithros knows how long planning them. He seemed happy enough with them before today. I don't know. Maybe the barrier coming down has disturbed him more than I thought."

"What about his magic? Has he lost his strength and skills?"

She shook her head slightly. "I can't say he has or he hasn't – you'd need to ask him himself. It's like exercises though – if you don't keep at them, you weaken." She hesitated. "He's not been himself since we came here. It's more that he's lost confidence in himself though."

The captain looked thoughtful. "And you think this is why he wants to lower the wards?" He tugged on an earlobe for a second, before dropping his hand to his side. "Right," he said slowly. "Right," he repeated, louder this time. "Lachann, I want you to stay here as positioned. Daine, I'd ask for you to remain as well, but I think –"

"You think I'm better with Numair," she finished for him.

The captain nodded. "You don't mind, do you?"

Daine smiled weakly. "Someone needs to keep an eye on him."


	16. Chapter 15: Midwinter's Luck

**So last week I decided I'd go back to editing on paper, because sometimes that's easier for me. Then, being the clever girl I am, left the edited paper, complete with a few snappy comments which I couldn't remember for the life of me, at home. And of course, I couldn't remember whether I'd made any of the changes I'd actually written down either. Then I thought my laptop was about to break, panicked and took everything off it, only to decide that what I was worried about had happened quite a while earlier (and then decide that poor Frederick (that's my laptop) probably does need to be sent away to be fixed, damn it.) So I'm a tad delayed, but hey, what's new? Here's to the end of Midwinter!**

**Future updates may be affected too, unfortunately, but I'll probably commandeer my boyfriend's laptop for when my pen doesn't keep up with my brain, and I can use uni comps to update, so hopefully it shouldn't be too bad. Next chap only needs final alterations anyway.**

**Thanks again for all your reviews, I do really enjoy reading your comments, and I really look forward to them. Cheers!**

**Consider this disclaimed.**

**Chapter 15**

* * *

Daine padded slowly up to the window that faced onto the street, her stockinged feet making no noise as she crossed the floor. Her nerves were on fire as she crossed the room. She didn't know whether she expected Hadensra to be standing outside the window and waiting for her, but she couldn't remember feeling quite so scared since their escape from Carthak. A hand clapped across her mouth and nose, and she was jerked back against a warm body. Panicking, she tossed her head, trying to move the hand so she could breathe. After what seemed like minutes, the hand dropped down to uncover her nose. Recognising the scent that belonged to the owner of it, she relaxed slightly. 

"Not a word, Daine." His voice came in one soft breath, making so little sound that Daine, whose hearing was naturally good even without her magical enhancements, had to strain herself to hear it. Clearly, despite the fact that Numair hadn't been using his crutch for mere weeks, his ability to move without making a sound had returned. With his free hand he twitched the curtain back in slight movements, before transferring it to rest on Daine's waist, clamping there tightly. Daine shivered at the breath of cold air. "Wards are down," he said briefly. "No defences. He can hear every sound we make."

His voice was strained, and Daine could feel his heartbeat pounding against her left shoulder. Suddenly his breath hitched, and his hands tightened further. "That's him."

Daine studied the man closely. The person Numair had identified as Hadensra looked absolutely nothing like the physical description he had given. This man was young, no more than in his early twenties, she thought, and looked fairly unremarkable. She wouldn't have called him handsome, but he was by no means ugly. Dark brown hair straggled down his back, and his skin was ruddy and weathered-looking. For all she knew, he could have been a peasant visiting his city relatives for the festival. There was certainly no sign of his infamous ruby-eye in the dark pair that swept over the street.

Obviously her confusion was apparent, as Numair whispered, "Image magic," in her ear a few seconds later. His hand slipped from her waist to rummage with something in his belt purse, and a moment after he pressed something into her hand, gesturing for her to hold it over her eyes. Daine recognised it as a griffin feather, one of a small bundle she had been given by those that roosted near the Swoop. Holding it in place as Numair had instructed, she blinked, giving her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the man's new appearance.

A different person entirely stood in the place of the one that she had seen moments ago, covered in a thin, white mist of magic. This was Hadensra in his true form, she realised. This man was much more rotund than the slim-built man who had walked before them previously. Underneath his bearskin cape, she could see stained and muddy leggings, and a chain around his neck that held a large stone of some kind. The most predominant feature of this large man though, half concealed under his dirty blond hair, was a large ruby globe, just as Numair had described, in his eye socket. Daine could not help but shiver at the sight and press closer to Numair for reassurance; a man who could pull out his own eye for more power was clearly a dangerous threat.

She gasped suddenly against Numair's hand as a single, ruthless eye swung towards them, the ruby glinting in the pale sunlight. Numair, whose body had given a small jolt of shock when the man turned, slowly pushed her to his right, freeing her mouth and manoeuvring himself so he was in front of her. Hadensra paused for a moment, scrutinizing the buildings around him closely. His gaze hesitated for a moment on their window, and appeared to stare right at them, before the man sneered and moved on.

The pair behind the window remained tensed, and, it seemed to Daine, neither dared breathe. Reaching out with her own magic, she was reassured by the two stray cats at the end of the road that Hadensra had moved into another street of the Golden Wood district. When it was confirmed by several sparrows, she passed the news on to Numair.

The mage's body visibly relaxed, but his movements still seemed taught as he jerked the curtain across the window. "Pack your things," he ordered as he spun around to face her. "We're leaving."

"What?"

"Now, Daine."

Part of her body was very tempted to follow his demands, but the other remained where it was. She knew him and his tendencies to make rash decisions when stressed well, and more often than not it had led them into trouble rather than out of it. She stood her ground. "One minute you're panicking that Inar Hadensra is wandering the streets of Corus, standing _outside_ our house, and that all the wards are down, the next you're demanding we go out there with him! Which is it, Numair?"

He glared at her from the dresser, where he was busily throwing his clothes and vials into a collection of saddlebags. "We aren't staying here."

She thought desperately of a way to appeal to his academic side as she tried to delay him. "Speak to the King or Sir Raoul first. They could at least tell us where to go."

Numair shook his head. "That involves magic, Daine. If Hadensra is searching for traces of my Gift, which he will be, he'll know where we are immediately, and I don't think I could adequately replace the defences in time." He jammed a collection of bottles into the pocket of one of his bags, before strapping it shut. "You're not packing, Daine."

She bit back a comment about his perceptiveness, knowing it would not help the situation. "We could contact them by messenger bird. If the King sends a speech spell to _me_, would Hadensra know?"

Numair paused. "Unless he was looking for it, no." He sighed. "We'll try your method first."

* * *

Something flickered at the corner of her eye, and Daine yelped when she turned to find herself face to face with King Jonathan.

"It was definitely Hadensra?" he said by way of greeting.

"Definitely," Numair sat on the edge of his bed gingerly, facing a sparkling blue window of magic. "We both saw him. He's disguised as a commoner just now with image magic, but I could see through it, and Daine used a griffin feather to prove it." Numair passed Hadensra's description to Jonathan quickly, the monarch's body growing visibly tenser by the second. Finished, the mage added, "Scanra _must_ be involved. Hadensra wouldn't have anything to do with Carthak otherwise."

Jon's face was pale and haunted. "We'll be crushed," he said simply. "With Scanra pushing down from the north, and Carthak and the Copper Isles coming in from the sea, we'll be crushed. They'll have our backs to the Drell – we'll have to make an alliance with Tusaine, quickly, and that's not – that won't be popular."

"What of Galla, Maren and Tyra? Can they spare us no troops?"

The king shook his head wearily. They're just as pressed to the wall as we are. Maren could have Carthak from the south, and Galla Scanra from the north. Tyra has her own problems."

"But that's just on one border," Daine protested. "We're surrounded on three sides. Surely there must be something they can do."

"They're still not entirely on our side, Daine. There's enough doubt as to why the peace talks collapsed to keep them from allying outwardly with us, because they have no wish to risk drawing Carthak in on them as well. Maren maybe has the manpower, if she utilises her slaves, to withstand an attack, but by mobilising them, the fields will be left empty, and that damages their economy and resources. And you know better than most the problems Galla has with defending her borders and keeping discipline _within_ them."

The girl fell silent, dropping down to sit next to the mage. She felt him pat her leg softly as he spoke. "So they aren't believing George's information?"

"No," the King sighed softly. "He tells me he's making progress, but – it's been months now, and it feels like we're getting more and more isolated from our neighbours. Our trade's falling, and that's not just a result of the winter snows. Even further south we're struggling, what with Tyra's problems. That Scanra's involved – that's the last thing we need right now." Dropping his gaze, Jonathan added, "We lost the Ninth Riders yesterday in a hurrok attack in the desert, and half of the tribe they were meant to be protecting. The Sun Chasers in the south east."

"I've stayed with them," Numair said absently. "Tell me, the Chief, Sandi –"

"Dead," Jon said bluntly. "Twenty men, thirteen women, and one child. Not including the Riders. Their shaman, Fahim ibn Samara, different from when you were there, survived and got word out to us, but he was in a bad way. I fear that by the time I commune with them tonight, he may have passed on too."

"Goddess, that's awful," Daine whispered.

Jonathan swallowed heavily, before pushing on. "So you see how our resources are stretched already, and war still hasn't been officially declared by any side. We're just – waiting."

"Surely then by having us out of here, we could ease the situation somewhat?" Numair said pointedly.

"Numair, we discussed this earlier. With circumstances being so unstable, do you think I'm willing to risk losing you two to another immortal attack, or a bandit raid? I don't care how good you are, these skirmishes are so full of surprises that anything can happen. Even Alanna's been caught out – she was injured at the start of the month. That's the main reason she's in Corus and not on the border. And you'd have the threat of Ozorne's men to contend with as well."

"But Hadensra is wandering the streets –"

"Which is exactly why you're staying where you are. Weren't you listening this morning Numair?"

Daine stiffened. "Was this what's been bothering you all morning? Did you know Hadensra was coming?"

"I didn't know it was him," Numair said defensively.

She glared at her teacher. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Numair sighed, flicking a dark look at Jonathan. "You've had so many other things on your mind, Daine, have you noticed?" He shifted on the bed, turning to face her and taking her hands in his. "Cloud and Kitten's wellbeing. The safety of our friends, not to mention Kaddar and Lindhall's whereabouts," he listed. "Me?" he added quietly.

"Why – Numair, I don't need to worry about you."

"You're right," he agreed, "you don't. Nevertheless, you do." Daine raised her head defiantly, ignoring the blush she could feel spreading across her cheeks. Numair chuckled softly. "I should be the least of your worries."

"I repeat, Numair, that you are not leaving." At Jonathan's voice, Numair dropped her hands quickly.

Daine nodded. "Even _I_ can see the folly in leaving today, with Hadensra out there somewhere," she gestured towards the window.

"There you are then," the King smiled. "That's settled it."

"But not in leaving us here for much longer," she finished. Numair made a triumphant noise in the back of his throat, grinning widely, and Daine nudged him with her elbow. His gloating wouldn't help when it came to dealing with King Jonathan.

"A man was found attempting to break into your Tower three nights ago, Numair. When we attempted to question him, he died. That's reason enough," Jonathan returned smoothly. "Ozorne is still looking for you. Until we can at least minimise that threat, you aren't leaving."

"But Ozorne will just keep sending more men!" Numair shot back. "We'll never get to leave then."

"And if that proves true, Numair, I may just leave you there," Jonathan said without any humour. "At least I can trust Daine to keep an eye on you in that case," he snapped.

"If you need Daine to keep an eye on me, she can do it just as well from outside of here as she can inside."

"Numair," Jon said wearily. Daine didn't miss the tone of warning in his voice. The mage fell silent. "I've given you my decision. I don't need to justify it to you. It's too much risk for just two people."

Numair started to argue again, but Jonathan interrupted firmly with, "It's for your own good Numair. For yours and Daine's."

Daine cursed silently, glaring at the King for using Numair's weak spot against him. She'd never get to leave now.

* * *

Numair had spent much of the rest of the day quietly in his room, increasing the potency of the wards. Daine had offered her company, but Numair had shaken his head wearily and refused to meet her eyes when he gave her a reason. She supposed she wouldn't have minded his being off with her so much – she was used to his occasional sullen moods by now – but when not even half a bell later, he'd allowed Abigail to join him, she'd gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the angry warmth in her throat. Instead, she settled in the library, glumly staring at the image of her father in Numair's book. He was standing posed with his bow half drawn, his quiver slung over his shoulder and a pile of dead hares at his feet, a skinned fox pelt hanging from his waist. Daine scowled. She didn't care if he _was_ a hunt god, it didn't have to be demonstrated in so – _graphic_ – a way, and managing conveniently to forget that hunting had been one of her strengths when she was younger. 

A gentle knock on the study door dragged her from the scrutiny of her father. "Daine?" Lachann stood there. "Daine, it's dark."

A glance around her confirmed it was indeed well after sunset, and the lowness of the candles on the table added several hours to that. She shook her head, her human eyes replacing the cat's ones she wore, forcing a smile for him.

Lachann picked up the branch of candles on the table, bringing it over to where she sat. "Scowlin' at the gods?" he murmured, leaning over her shoulder. His breath tickled the hairs near her ear. "That's not a way to make friends with them, you know," he informed her. "Mind you," he reached over her, turning the page to see the name, "I doubt Weiryn of northern Tortall, Scanra and Galla could really find much reason to take vengeance on you." He crouched down next to her, resting the candles somewhere near her feet. "You're from Galla, aren't you?" She nodded. "Thought so. You don't get eyes like those without coming from Galla."

Daine couldn't help it, despite her current mood; she giggled. "I'm sorry?"

Even in the darkness, she could see his blush. "Well, you do, but – what I mean is, I think that –"

Her giggles increased.

An irritable sigh came from beside her. "You don't make this any easier for a man, do you? It's no bed of roses tryin' to – trying to –"

She finally took pity on him, stifling her giggles. "Sorry. Trying to what?"

"Even just talkin' to the student of Numair Salmalín is hard, you know. You might find yourself turned into a – a –" he cast around for something "a log, or a stone, if you're not careful." This time, when she giggled, he joined her. "It's ridiculous, isn't it?"

"Lachann, Numair's no harm. Really."

"Still," the man chuckled embarrassedly, "it's no easy feat talkin' to _any_ pretty girl, let alone the student of a black robe. I've been informed it's no good for my health."

The smile fell from her face. "Oh Goddess, he hasn't, has he?"

"Master Salmalín hasn't spoken to me about you specifically, no. I wouldn't have said he was outwardly fond of me either, though." Daine rolled her eyes. "Anyway –"

The bell indicating the imminent change of watch rang in the hall, interrupting him. Lachann cursed softly.

"Is it so late?" Daine asked suddenly. "I hadn't realised." The watch changed at the midnight hour every night.

"'Parently so," the soldier said, checking his belt for equipment and then standing suddenly. "Here, let me – let me walk you to your room."

Daine began to giggle again, but stopped abruptly when she saw the look on his face. "It's only up the stairs, Lachann."

"I know, but this house puts restrictions on how far I can offer to accompany you. So, Lady Daine, if would you be so kind as to let me accompany you to your room, I'd be grateful." He offered his arm, and Daine shrugged. This at least would give her something to think about other than her father and Numair.

"I'd be honoured," she said regally, ruining the impression by grinning widely at him. Pausing first to blow out the candles, he hauled her to her feet and took her hand, resting it delicately on his arm.

"It's been an interesting day," he said with a wry smile as they left the study. "Does Master Numair always get so irritable?"

Daine smiled. "When he's rushed or worried, he can become a little tense. He was only worried though."

"'A little tense'?" Lachann chuckled. "I'd hate to see what he was like when he was under pressure."

Daine grinned. "I have, and with Mithros as my witness, believe me when I say it's not pretty for those on the receiving end."

"I'll take your word on it," Lachann told her reverentially as they topped the stairs. "You're a braver person than I to have lived and told the tale, from all accounts. I'd rather pass on the honour of seeing the famed Master Salmalín in one of his tempers, if the Gods will it." They halted outside her door. Lachann seemed a bit agitated, shifting his feet awkwardly.

"Grant a boon on Midwinter's Day," she said softly.

"Exactly," he smiled. "I can only hope they're listening. Midwinter's Luck and all."

She giggled nervously, suddenly aware that he was moving closer, _much_ closer. "The Gods have been good to us today," she pointed out. "Could they really spare us any more luck?"

Lachann shrugged. "Only one way to find out," he murmured, before pressing his lips to hers.

Daine choked down another giggle, feeling her cheeks begin to warm the longer the kiss went on. It was a _nice_ kiss, she decided eventually, her mind not quite focusing on what was happening to her. It was nice enough that it would be something she'd like to repeat, but she still didn't see what all the fuss was about. She'd heard the Rider women talking, and she knew it was supposed to be more than this, but Daine didn't know quite how to make it so, or even if she wanted to. The way Miri told it, it was like a pounding in your veins, a mini earthquake shaking your body. Daine wasn't sure if she wanted an earthquake in her body, and she thought Miri had been picking up lessons in the dramatic from Evin anyway.

He broke away, breathing harshly.

"Did it work?" she enquired impishly. "Are we lucky yet?"

He grinned. "_I_ feel lucky, Lady Daine. Lucky indeed. Good night, sweetling," Lachann mumbled, pressing another kiss to her lips before sauntering down the stairs. Daine felt her blush grow. Hardly anybody called her 'sweetling'; well, no one that wasn't her Ma, her Grandda, her Ma's friend Lory, and Numair. It was rare enough to make her uncomfortable, anyway.

She turned, about to go into her room, before she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Abigail was standing in her doorway, eyebrow raised, and a knowing smile on her face. Daine raised her chin defiantly, and the maid chuckled. "It's no bother of mine who you go kissing in doorways," she said with a smile, "but you might do best to keep it from Numair."

Daine nodded. "To say he's protective would be an understatement."

The maid chuckled again. "It would. You just be careful though, Lady Daine. I expect Lachann's a bit of a heartbreaker, though I'm sure you could break one or two yourself." Daine, not quite sure what to make of the warning, simply nodded. "Night, Daine. Happy Midwinter, Gods all will it."

She echoed the farewell, before closing the door behind her. What was _that_ meant to mean?

* * *

Numair stared helplessly at the ceiling, long after the midnight hour had been called. He should have been exhausted by his efforts restoring the wards which now finally satisfied his specifications, never mind holding the cloaking spell he'd worked under. Abigail had left him hours ago, finally put off by his lack of conversation as he concentrated on the shields. Numair felt slightly guilty that he had paid so little attention to her, but he was sure she would understand, and if he was honest, it wasn't his concerns about Abigail's happiness that kept him awake. Instead, his mind swirled between his frustration with Jon and his overwhelming fear, and when he was finally able to force them from his head, the other topic that he had been trying to avoid surfaced with ease. 

When he thought about it, now that he allowed himself to, it really wasn't fair. Numair found it hard to fall in love these days; trust came so much harder since his first escape from Carthak. Maybe it was the harsh realities of life that had brought about that change; maybe it was simply that he'd matured from his first teenage dreams. For all the women he'd been with in his time in Tortall, few had meant so much to him that he'd considered real love; a pretence of it yes, with several, but not _real_ love, not true love. He could only hope it was brief infatuation, although he knew in both his head and his heart that it wasn't.

What was the Yamani saying? Sakuyo laughs. Numair was positive that the Trickster God would be enjoying this. Somebody had asked Kyprioth to play a trick on him, and the God had obviously obliged, in the cruellest manner possible. _Now_ Numair understood why George had always warned him to avoid dealing with the God.

Numair had not only fallen in love; he'd fallen in love with the one woman he could never allow himself to regard in that way. And now, even though he knew, he couldn't bring himself to admit it, as if telling himself would announce it to the whole of Corus, would bring an end to everything he held dear.

Held too dear, he realised now.

He'd have to stop that himself, he thought grimly. Would have to limit contact – especially physical contact – with her. A strictly professional relationship, and personally – he sighed. He was only growing increasingly aware of how much _more_ he wanted from her, how much he couldn't have. If he stopped dwelling on it, of course, then he would stop realising the extent of his feelings, but then, it was hard not to linger over something he wanted so much, that he felt so much for, but couldn't have.

He needed to set rules for himself, to protect her, if not him. Just like Alanna had set restrictions on his Gift, he would set them on himself. He couldn't touch her, unless the circumstances provided for it; couldn't spend too much time with her, without making her feel pushed away. He couldn't hurt her, could only hope that his feelings would pass with them both unscathed, or her in the least. She would be his priority in all this. She would be the person to walk away freely. She would never know, never have reason to suspect, or expect, anything other than what they currently shared. It would have to be enough for him. It _must_ be enough for him.

And what of Abigail? Would it really, honestly be fair for him to continue his dalliances with her? Were they really fair anyway? He knew, somehow, that he spent so much time with her because she accepted him; saw the whole of him which others might not. She made him feel worthwhile and wanted.

But couldn't _she_ make him feel like that? Didn't she let him _know_, so regularly, that he was wanted; didn't she try to tell him that there was nothing wrong with him? Hadn't she spent hours with him, reassuring him and talking to him, watching him and helping him? Hadn't she _treated_ him even, with such care and concern? Didn't she deserve to know the truth, as he always told her to tell him?

Wishful thinking, he scolded himself. She couldn't and wouldn't know the depth of his feelings. Didn't she also deserve to be protected, not to be hurt?

A voice in his mind told him he was a hypocrite, that he had spent so long telling _her_ not to protect him, to always tell him what was troubling her. What she was _feeling_. And now he was hiding his own thoughts to protect her.

There was one thing Numair could be sure about in this entire situation, he thought in exasperation as he rubbed his eyes tiredly. There was no way to win an argument with oneself.

* * *

Inar Hadensra could not help but smile as he walked through the gates of the city of Corus, leaving the Tortallan capital at his back. His task had been all too easy. 

Ozorne's source was apparently more reliable than Inar had been expecting. Their directions had led him right to the house sheltering Salmalín and the girl, although the mage had hardly needed them. The huge backlash from Salmalín's removed workings had pinpointed their location to him like a beacon; before Salmalín's spell, Inar had been working solely from the map.

He didn't know exactly what had caused Salmalín to obliterate his spell – a working that had been hidden from even him had obviously taken time, effort and a great deal of his Gift – but he did know that it meant today's undertaking had worked. Salmalín was running scared. He had seen it in the man's face through the window; he had seen it when he pushed the girl behind him. Numair Salmalín, black robe, was terrified. Ozorne would be pleased. The Council would be happier. Tortall's strongest mage was locked in a tiny, ramshackle house in the capital, and he was scared. Not only that, but Inar could feel that his grip on his magic was waning; lack of practice. The mage was clearly not in a good way.

Today's little errand hadn't been an attempt to attack the mage in his own quarters though; it hadn't even been meant to evaluate his powers – that bit of information he had gleaned was extra. It had simply been to test Salmalín's nerve, and his nerves were clearly wearing thin. Hadensra grinned wolfishly. When the time came, Hadensra would see to it that they would snap.


	17. Chapter 16: The Bearers of News

**Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod. Without being more specific and giving the game away entirely, please take heed (again) of my warning at the start. I _really_ wasn't joking. I never pretended this was going to be all nice and friendly the whole way through, not once. I know, it seems mean, but it's necessary, believe me. If you want justification, then review, and if you're doing it anonymously, leave your email address and I'll respond. I can tell you that much without spoiling the rest, I think! I'll put more explanation at the _end_ of the next chap too, possibly, for those of you who don't want me to respond. This chapter is (one of) the reason(s) that I've been so horribly slow at updating recently. **

**And, (preferably without flaming me and telling me exactly how horrible I am) please review. I really do appreciate them! And now that I've left you all in suspense, wondering _what_ this terrible event is, read on!**

**-takes shelter under large and convenient rock and waits for the fall-out- **

**Chapter 16**

* * *

His skin prickled more than usual under her touch, heat flaring where her fingers ran with the cooling cream. Numair knew he was blushing, and that the colour in his cheeks was growing steadily by the minute. Shifting his gaze from her face to focus deliberately on a corner of the room, he set his mind to listing all he knew of the gods and goddesses, particularly on the Green Lady. Of course, the Green Lady brought Numair's thoughts back to _her_ again. He shook his head for a moment, drawing her attention, and he smiled weakly in attempt to reassure her, before forcing himself to turn back to his thoughts. For a goddess to arise in an area so suddenly always demanded contemplation; Numair needed to find out more, and had every intention of asking Daine about her when the opportunity arose, but he wanted to broach the topic with her cautiously. He had certain suspicions about her that called for further considerations, and Numair wasn't entirely sure how his student would react to some of his speculation.

The rhythmic movement of her hand crept through his stream of conscience. This was ridiculous. He had to do _something_…

He un-creased his brow, trying to remove the pained expression from his face, and attempted to keep his voice neutral. "Perhaps you'd like to show Abigail how to treat my leg."

Daine frowned, turning to look at him. "Why?" Her methodical hands stopped, lifting from his leg in hesitation.

Numair looked down at his hands. "Well, it's just that I know it's been a burden on you, and –"

"Yes, but why now?"

He risked making eye contact with her. "Maybe you were right about Abigail understanding me more than I thought. I think this will help me – help us both – learn to trust each other more." He winced at the expression of hurt that flashed across Daine's face.

His student said nothing, dropping her hands back to his leg and rubbing in the remainder of the cream. "Well, it's too late now," she said briskly. "It'll have to be next time; she's missed too much and it would be pointless starting again."

Daine," he began, but she shook her head.

"Nearly finished. I just need to finish with the salve, and then I'll leave you to it." The rest of the cream was applied vigorously, Daine's face carefully schooled. Unfortunately, Numair had spent too much time with his student not to be able to recognise and read her efforts.

"Magelet," he tried again, consolingly.

"It's all right, Numair, I understand. Of course you want to spend more time with her. That's fine. I'm not about to complain that – that you're choosing her over me, or anything like that. Just silly." The movement abruptly stopped, and Daine wiped her hands quickly on a towel, then folded down the full-length cotton breaches he'd taken to wearing. "Done." She gave him a quick, forced smile and turned to leave.

"Daine," he said, but she waved her hand.

"I'll see if Abigail's free, if you like."

He sighed. "Fine," he told her, resigned. "I need to speak to you later though." She closed the door behind her, rather louder than she would have normally. "It's important!" he called after her. His student gave no acknowledgement of even hearing him, her footsteps clearly audible going up the stairs and then crossing into her room.

That hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped.

* * *

Five hours later, and his student had finally reluctantly joined him in the study. Numair felt nervous with anticipation; he wasn't entirely sure how she would respond to some of his hypotheses on the Green Lady. If her reaction to their discovery about her father had been anything to go by, he didn't think it would be a positive experience. She had never taken to talking about her family lightly, and Numair worried that this would only upset her further after their discussion that morning. He took a deep breath, going over his arguments once more in his head to confirm that they did in fact make sense, and then finally spoke.

"Daine," he asked, careful to put a casual tone into his voice, "What do you know of the Green Lady?"

"Who?"

"She's a goddess, from up Snowsdale way. I just thought you might know of her."

Daine shook her head. "Never heard of her. Not that I mean to cause any slight to the Lady," she said quickly. Numair had to keep his mouth from twitching at her apologetic tone. "What's she entrusted with?"

"Only small duties. Childbearing, gardens. Domestic issues mainly."

Daine frowned. "You'd think," she said, tugging at a loose curl, "that my Ma being what she was, I would have heard of her."

"That's why I thought to ask," he told her. "It's a recent paper, from the City of the Gods." He hesitated, before pushing on. "She only appeared in Snowsdale in 449, you see." Numair held his breath, waiting to see if she would come to the same conclusion he had done.

Daine gave a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Numair, you know that my Ma and Grandda died that January. After that, I wasn't in much of a state to be noticing gods and goddesses in the village. I wasn't in much of a state at all until I met Onua in March."

"I do," he conceded. "I just thought it was worth asking, that's all. You might have had first hand experience." He had to hope that the scholar in her would want to enquire more.

"And just declined to mention it until now," she said scornfully, her tone suggesting that she knew him better than that. She pushed the stray curl behind her ear, before she reached across the table, holding her hand out for the book. "Can I read it?"

"You _may_," he corrected automatically, pushing the book towards her and pointing out the paragraph. She scowled at him. "Just read it," he implored her.

"The Green Lady," she recited. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, watching her impassively as she read, her brow creasing into a frown.

"She appeared over the well in the village?" Numair nodded, and she grinned in response. "I'd wager that gave them a fright. If only I'd seen their faces."

He cleared his throat and she returned her gaze to the page. While he had no patience for these people he had never even met, there were more important issues at that particular moment that Daine gloating over their discomfort, however rarely she did it.

"'Newly-made'," she read. "And from what they can tell, she's blonde, blue-eyed and pretty." She glanced up at him. "Not many goddesses are ugly, have you noticed?"

"There's an illustration over the page," he replied drily.

He waited for a few moments as she obediently stared at the picture. Finally, he reached over and grasped her wrist. "Well?" he asked softly.

Daine shook her head. "They're mistaken."

"Who are? And how?"

"These people," she gestured at the book. "And the illustrator. This woman - she lived in the village. They've drawn her, not a goddess."

"So you know her?" he pressed. When she failed to answer, Numair let his hand slide down to grasp hers. "Daine?"

"She's - she's my mother."

Numair's head dipped automatically in a nod - he had suspected so since he first began reading of the Green Lady a month ago.

"But she can't be," Daine protested. She was still staring at the page, and couldn't have seen his nod, but shook her head again all the same. "She isn't."

"Why not, Daine?"

"Because she is - was - a mortal, that's why not!"

He stood, making his way round the table to sit next to her. "Magelet, you've given me enough evidence to think to the contrary in recent months. Think - as confusing and hard as it may be - about it." When she refused to respond, he bit back a sigh. He had never liked to push her on issues of her family, Mithros knowing that he himself preferred not to talk about his, but he was so sure of this. "You say you've seen your mother and father living together," he reasoned gently. "As a God, your father cannot live in the Peaceful Realms, and as a mortal, your mother has no access to the Divine Realms. Therefore, one of them has changed, and I'd be willing to wager from what I know of him that your father hasn't relinquished his divinity."

"But it's nonsense!" she protested again.

"Your father could have petitioned the Great Gods to allow her to join their numbers. There have been cases like that before."

"But to make her a goddess? Numair, my Ma couldn't even remember to keep an eye to her cooking if she was distracted. To make her a patron of it - that's folly!"

Numair sighed softly, releasing her hand. "Ask the Badger the next time you see him. Pray to the Green Lady on the next festival and ask her. They could confirm or deny it to you." Either way, he thought to himself, he'd planted enough of a seed in her head to get her thinking about it. And eventually she'd need to know.

More than that, if he knew his student at all, she'd _want_ to know.

* * *

A week had passed since Numair had told her that her mother was a Goddess. Daine was sitting in the attic, peering out over the street as she contemplated the matter. It didn't seem to make sense, couldn't, but the more she thought about it, the more Numair's reasoning seemed correct. Not only that, but her Ma had started appearing in her dreams, laughing whilst she tended the garden Daine had seen her in before, talking to her father, and, even stranger, the Badger. They confused her so much that Daine couldn't tell whether they were just her imagination putting her thoughts into her dreams, or whether they were real images. Daine didn't even know whether her parents could do that; Numair had only told her about Lord Ganiel being able to affect mortal dreams.

Whilst she thought, she was vaguely listening to the conversations in the stables of the Own through Sir Raoul's warhorse Drum. Her ears pricked suddenly at the mention of Golden Wood.

"The sooner we get you there, the happier I'll be," the knight was saying. Daine slipped further into Drum's mind, careful to reign in her power enough to prevent her from turning into a horse in the middle of the attic. Looking through the horse's eyes, the knight seemed to be talking to a patch of thin air. "Flyn'll see you down there; I have a meeting with his majesty."

"I can't thank you enough," a male voice said.

Raoul grinned. "It's George's men you have to thank – they found you." The bell signifying the quarter-hour mark rang and the knight cursed softly. "I'll have to go. Pass my regards to Numair and Daine, will you? And tell her that her Kitten's just fine, except for blowing the locks off the Royal Apartments last week." Daine grinned. The invisible man chuckled, and then mounted the warhorse. Daine felt Drum shift uneasily, not used to carrying riders he couldn't see; she reassured him gently. Raoul patted his horse's flanks, handing the reins to his second. "Mithros, the men'll think I'm mad, talking to invisible spaces."

Flyndan chuckled. "They already do Raoul." He clucked his tongue and led the horse out of the stables as the Knight Commander muttered something about "insubordinates" good-naturedly.

When Daine felt Drum and Flyn's horse, Wings, leave the Palace, she left them, hurrying down the stairs and into Numair's room, where she found the mage unsurprisingly at a book, and quickly explained the situation about Captain Flyn and the invisible rider to him. By the time that the horses and their riders arrived at the entrance to the courtyard, the pair were waiting anxiously to find out who the mysterious man was.

"The invisibility spell's been removed," Numair muttered. "He's in the kitchen."

Daine found herself gripping the arms of the chair tightly, casting a sheepish grin at Numair. A knock on the woodwork coincided with the appearance of the Captain and behind him, a cloaked figure. The man pulled down his hood to reveal a familiar smile, albeit a tired one.

"Kaddar!" she jumped to her feet and ran to the man in the doorway, hugging him tightly. "When did you get here?"

Numair crossed the room to shake hands with the man, not even a hint of resentment on his face that she had hugged the Prince he had worked so hard at dissuading from Daine all those months ago.

"A few days ago," he answered. "You have no idea how good it is to see you again."

Daine grinned. "The same goes for you. We've been worried about you."

"Where's Lindhall?" Numair asked eagerly, sitting back down in his chair, and gesturing for the man to take a seat. Kaddar remained standing, twisting his hands in his cloak.

If Daine hadn't been watching Kaddar so closely, she would have missed his reaction. The Prince flinched and looked away, turning round as if to seek help from the now-absent guard who had stood in the doorway and slipped away during the reunion.

Numair hadn't missed it either. "Well?" he asked, demanding. "Is he arriving later?"

A small shake of the Prince's head answered the question.

Numair's voice seemed to tighten, his face immediately creasing into a frown. "Did you get separated?" When all his answer was met with was silence, he stood up. "Did something happen to him?"

The mage was beginning to look almost apprehensive of the young man's answer, and Daine couldn't help but feel nervous herself, as a growing worry spread from her stomach and through her body. A sudden gust of magic blew the door shut, making Daine jump, as Numair's sparkling black Gift seemed to swallow the room. "Well?" he demanded again, his voice scratchy and tight, his body tense.

"Master Lindhall was – he was killed whilst we were still in Carthak. The Red Army – they caught us after three weeks. He fought – we fought them, but…" The prince trailed off.

Daine gasped loudly, her hand flying to her mouth. Numair seemed to take the news as a physical blow. His body jerked backwards and for one perilous moment, Daine thought he was about to overbalance. Then she saw something sweep through him, forcing him to stand straight and his body to tense. Daine had seen him angry before, but never like this.

"Who did it?" he asked, his voice calm and cool, but Daine could see the grief and anger emanating from him. She bit her lip hard, trying to hold back the tears filling her eyes. Her crying was the last thing Numair needed.

Kaddar shook his head, but Numair interrupted. "Who killed Lindhall? Was it him? Was it Ozorne? Was it your _uncle_?" he hissed.

"Master Salmalín," Kaddar began, but Numair cut him off.

"It was, wasn't it?"

Silently Kaddar nodded.

Numair's rage was almost palpable now. The magic that had been sealing the room disappeared with a loud _crack_. "Get out," he whispered harshly.

"Numair, it's not his fault," Daine said softly. His eyes snapped to her, and for a moment, his face softened, and she was compelled towards him, anxious to know what was in those deep eyes of his. Suddenly he blinked and his mouth returned to its grim line.

"Please," he asked quietly, sinking into his chair. "I can't – just not now." He glanced at Kaddar and blushed. "I'm sorry."

The prince shook his head. "I'm sorry too." He looked at her. "Daine, are you coming?"

She glanced at Numair, head in his hands, torn between mentor and newly arrived friend who was clearly as traumatised by the news as Numair was. "Numair?" she asked softly. The mage just shook his head, not moving his gaze from the floor. "I'll come back later, all right?"

He didn't even answer, but as she went to close the door behind them, she heard a choked noise from inside. Without saying a word to Kaddar, she slipped silently back inside the room. Dropping to her knees in front of the mage, she reached to peel his hands away from his face. Immediately she was pulled to her feet and swept into a fierce hug, his hands pressing tightly into her back as she was lifted from the ground. Huge sobs racked his body as his face buried into her shoulder. Daine's entire body shook as she held onto him, whispering soothing words into his ear and stroking his head, running her fingers through untied hair. Slowly he backed into his chair, pulling Daine onto his lap as he continued to sob, holding her tightly in his arms. His breath was hot and sticky against her shoulder, and Daine was finding it hard to fight back her own sting of tears.

"Oh Numair," she shushed him, feeling lost for words. His fingers moved to tangle themselves in her hair, and she pressed soft kisses to the side of his head in attempt to comfort him.

Finally he stopped, and she could feel him taking deep gulps of air as he tried to regain his composure. He moved to rest his forehead upon her shoulder, wiping his face surreptitiously with the back of his hand before he lifted his head and glanced up at her.

"Better now?" she asked softly, still running one hand up and down his back, although she knew it was a foolish question.

He gave her a tiny sheepish smile, making the dampness under his eyes glimmer in the light. "Not really."

For a long moment they just sat there in silence, simply holding each other, his head on her shoulder, her cheek pressing against his head and her own tears running down to mingle with his hair. He shifted underneath her, and she suddenly became aware of where she was sitting. Uncomfortableness rushed over her, and she moved to stand, but Numair's arms were still round her. He pulled her tightly to him one more time before he released her with a soft sigh, and she scrambled to her feet. Suddenly unsure of herself, she blushed. When she looked up at Numair, she realised he was doing the same.

"You should probably go and speak to Kaddar," Numair said eventually.

"Are you sure?" Daine asked tentatively. She didn't want to leave him on his own, but her sudden bout of self-awareness left her feeling strangely uncomfortable around her tall friend.

Numair nodded. "He probably needs you just as much as I do right now." Daine's blush increased. She'd never really thought that Numair needed _her_; more that it was a case of her needing him. "Go on," he ordered her softly. "I'm probably not much company right now anyway."

"Do you want me to come back later?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I'll see you in the morning. Tell Kaddar I'm sorry," he instructed her. "Goodnight magelet."

Tentatively, she reached down and kissed him on the cheek. She could feel the damp heat of his face on her lips. "Shout me if you need me," she told him.

"I will," he promised, although she could tell he had absolutely no intention of doing so. For a moment she hesitated, wanting to force him to comply, but she decided that maybe to leave him alone for the moment was for the best.

Glancing back at him as she left the room, only one thing was on her mind. In that second before he had hugged her, there was a look of complete desolation on Numair's face.

* * *

Upstairs, she knocked on the half-open door across the corridor from hers. Its occupant pulled it open to fully reveal himself.

"Kaddar," she smiled. "Can I come in?"

The prince gave a small smile. "Of course," he waved her in. "Is Master Numair all right?"

She perched on the small desk, watching the man as he moved around the room. "No," she said frankly. "Sometimes I think that Lindhall was more like a father to him than a teacher, the way he speaks about him. He was so looking forward to seeing him again. I was looking forwards to seeing him too," she added quietly. "He says he's sorry, by the way." She wiped her eyes on her sleeve again, sighing raggedly.

Kaddar shook his head, his voice soft. "It's perfectly understandable. I knew they were friends, but I had no idea they were so close."

Daine nodded. "From what he's told me. He even stayed up one night telling me stories about him, once we knew you'd escaped." She blushed, remembering how she'd woken the next morning. "Well, almost one night anyway."

Kaddar rubbed his face roughly. "Hag's Bones I'm tired," he muttered, dropping onto the bed.

"Are you wanting to sleep now?"

He laughed drily. "I feel like I haven't slept in months. But then," he shrugged, "I suppose it has been."

"What happened? I mean, if you want to talk about it?" she added as an afterthought.

He groaned, staring at the ceiling before dropping his eyes back down to meet hers. They looked haunted. "You don't give a man much time to breathe, do you?"

"Sorry."

"Don't be." He sighed heavily. "Does Master Numair want to hear this too? Or will I have to repeat it?"

"I don't think it would help him to hear it now. He needs time to grieve, I think."

Kaddar sighed. "My luck. I didn't think I could tell it twice, and already I know I'll have too." Answering her curious look, he said, "I've already been interrogated by the Baron of – I forget. Lady Alanna's husband, anyway – and I've been informed that at some point or another, your King will want to speak to me." He smiled wryly. "You can be my practise."

"You don't have to, you know."

He shrugged. "I may as well with a friend as with a stranger. It's a long story though." He looked around. "I'd ask if there was a spell on us, but Kitten's not here."

"No," she said tightly.

"A point of contention, I see. No one would listen to us here anyway. Or," he amended, "no one that won't hear my story anyway.

"My uncle had me arrested for conspiracy and treason at the end of October. I was in his dungeons – I _won't_ tell you about my time there – and I was sure I was to be sent to my death. I was surprised I wasn't taken earlier, to be honest. Anyway, I was being taken to the main square in Carthak – he made me ride through the city on horseback so all the citizens would know what I'd allegedly done – when Lindhall and his accomplices started their ambush, hidden in windows and rooftops. Most of them were university mages, from what I can tell, although Lindhall never did tell me much. Almost all were from the north, or the southern and eastern lands that Carthak has conquered at some point. When I was there, I was part of a fellowship that was planning to change Carthak, and all that it's synonymous with."

"So his accusations weren't 'alleged' at all, were they?" she interjected.

Kaddar winced. "Not exactly, no. But understand, I had very little to do with plans to actually _overthrow_ him. I was more involved with what would happen _after_ his reign had ended, by whatever means. And each member is only told so much about who else is involved. It's far too dangerous to know too much.

"One of my rescuers – Master Chibeka – he was killed when they attacked. Another was injured, but I never found out what happened to him. Lindhall just grabbed me and ran. It was only meant to be us – too many of us and we wouldn't have escaped notice. Lindhall had already chosen our escape route through the slave underground. I'd thought the best thing to do would have been to get out the country as quickly as possible, but there are no ships sailing to Tortall, and all those going across the Inland Sea have been searched so thoroughly after you escaped.

"Instead, we headed east to the coast. At points along the way, we were given shelter, or met and transported to a certain place, or fed. Lindhall never told me too much, but we were to travel along the coast of the Inland Sea, through Siraj, Ekallatum, then up through Yamut to the Roof of the World. From there, we were to follow the Coast Road into Maren, travel up the Shappa and along the Great Road East and right into your capital.

"Something went wrong though. I think one of our contacts was caught, or maybe he was even more double-faced than we thought. I don't know." The Prince took a heavy breath, scrubbing his face tiredly. "The Red Army caught up with us, and it seems like my uncle came along to make sure there was no way I'd escape again. I think he planned to execute me there, but Lindhall got in the way. He took them all on, the old fool," Kaddar whispered, not a hint of malice in his voice. "He even took four of them with him, before I saw them – Ozorne – kill him. It gave me enough time to escape and hide. I doubled back for a while, and then hid on the first boat I could find. All of a sudden, I was in Port Udayapur. The best thing to do seemed to be to keep to Lindhall's original plan. I didn't know what to do, I didn't have any money, I barely had enough to eat, and I _know_ I was followed. I didn't even let myself sleep for long enough to actually rest. It's freezing as well – I knew winters here were much worse than at home, but this?" He shook his head. "Most of the roads were almost entirely impassable, especially in the Roof, and in Maren. Even coming through Tortall."

"Most people avoid travelling far at this time if they can help it," she told him. "But you couldn't."

He murmured his agreement, adding wryly, "I know that now! I had to melt the snow with my Gift, which gave up almost every chance of covering my trail. Eventually, I was given shelter by a Temple of Mithros," he continued. "I slept for a day! They gave me food for the road, a horse, and some better winter clothing, but after that I was on my own again. I just made my way here as quickly as I could. Your Baron's spies found me somewhere in Maren, and brought me the rest of the way. And here I am," he shrugged.

"How did they – I mean, how did he –" She couldn't find the words for what she wanted to ask.

"How did Ozorne kill Lindhall, you mean?" She nodded. Kaddar's face became tight and closed. "It was like he was consumed by Ozorne's magic. A ball of flames. I heard him scream," he whispered.

Daine sat silently on the desk, half wishing she hadn't asked. "It's like what he did to Numair," she said finally. "That's how he got injured – Ozorne tried to burn him, and only got his leg. He was lucky really, the way a bird flies." She gave a contorted smile. "I suppose it's the only good thing to come out of Numair not flying much." There was silence, before finally she added, "I'm sorry, you know."

Kaddar shrugged. "I'm here now."

"I'm just sorry you had to see what you did, go through all that."

"It sounds like you and Master Numair have your own story to tell." His mouth became grim. "He will pay."

"I know."

"I intend to be the one to make him."

Daine laughed darkly. "Not if me or Numair get their first," she informed him. "We have our own score to settle." She hopped down from her perch, stretching her legs. "Do you need help to unpack?"

Kaddar looked at his sole, travel-worn bag and chuckled. "I think I can manage."

* * *

Numair hadn't bothered to light the mage globes or the candles as darkness settled on the room, and didn't emerge for dinner, studiously ignoring the impatient knocks at the locked door. Instead, he sat in the growing darkness, too exhausted by the news to face moving, eating, anything. A mixture of fury and grief wailed in the pit of his stomach, but the mage couldn't bring himself to confront it, to recognise what it meant, because if he did, it would mean he'd lost one of his greatest friends, and he didn't think he could bear any more reasons to despise Ozorne more than he already did. Instead, for once, he let his mind occupy itself with thoughts of her. He thought anything was better than confronting what Kaddar had told him; even that.

Numair couldn't believe he'd let her see such a weakness in him, couldn't believe that he'd let her see him fall apart like that. Worse than that, he'd let himself hold her, wrapped her tightly in his arms, had her so close to him. He'd told himself he couldn't do that anymore, couldn't hug her, touch her when it wasn't appropriate. Especially not now; not with what he knew. He shouldn't even let himself be in the same building as her, not with all those inappropriate thoughts that were swirling around his head. He couldn't, not her, wasn't allowed. Not Daine.

He couldn't love her.

But he did.

He loved Daine.

* * *

"Goddess," Daine whispered, sitting bolt upright in bed. Ten days had passed since Kaddar's arrival in the house. "They're -" A wave of nausea washed over her, and Daine forced herself out of the bed. Her head span, and she reached for the wall, leaning against it for a moment before she decided that dropping to all fours would give her more balance. Numair. She needed to get to him and tell him what was going on, now. Shaping cat's eyes for herself, she began to crawl for the door, her body still threatening to topple over at any second, and her desire to be sick only growing.

She took the stairs backwards, lowering herself down them, not trusting her sense of balance to let her down the stairs without falling, before crawling weakly towards Numair's door and banging it heavily. It had barely been opened since Kaddar's arrival, but she needed him now. Dragging herself upright using the doorknob, she pounded the wood with her fist.

"Daine?" came Graham's voice from behind. "What's wrong?"

"I need in," she managed. "Message to the Palace - _now_." She thudded again heavily. "It's urgent. They're - attacking. They're coming to attack."

"Who are?" Graham was already battering the mage's door.

"Immortals."


	18. Chapter 17: Bystanders

**Ah! Sorry it's been so long, but I've been massively busy recently. I was hoping to get the entire battle into one complete chapter too, but that wasn't going to happen, apparently. Holidays start next week, though I need to get a head start on the word for after them, so I'm not sure how much work I'll get done during them. On the upside, classes finish 11th May, and I don't have any exams this year! AND, the 6 Nations has just finished, so I won't be spending entire weekends with rugby on the brain for a while, haha.**

**Thank you so, so much for your reviews of the last chap. As you could probably tell, I was a little apprehensive of the reaction I would get for killing off a popular character, but none of you seemed to mind that much, really. You're all heartless. ;) No, really, thanks so much for not killing me! I also want to say an extra little thanks to Michelle, whose last review actually gave me the motivation to seriously sit down and write what I needed to, instead of changing words here and there and calling it editing. Cheers!**

**Chapter 17**

* * *

"Immortals. Can't you feel them?" she demanded.

"No," Graham said shortly, looking slightly confused. Nonetheless, he dashed across the hall to the guards' room, ringing the alarm bell to wake the others.

Suddenly Numair's door was yanked open from the inside, and Daine collapsed against a groggy mage.

"What's going on?" he asked, leaning down to look at her better. "What's happening?"

"Stormwings are coming," she gritted out, struggling to focus on his face. "Hundreds of them. I can't tell how many. You need to warn - oh Gods. Going to be sick." Her head swam, and for a moment the floor seemed to rush towards her and then away again, her ears roaring. She closed her eyes, trying to regain some sense of balance before gravity pitched her to the floor. Finally her body began to reject what she was feeling and she started to retch.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Numair was there with a porcelain washbowl, holding her head up and whispering words she couldn't quite hear to her. "They're coming," she managed to murmur between retches. "Stormwings and - the Gods know what else. You need to warn them, Numair, they need to know."

"It's done," he assured her softly. "Tormos is doing it as we speak." He pulled her hair back again as her head dipped into the dish and smoothed his hand up and down her back. From somewhere he produced a vial and waved it under her nose; the dreaded Wakeflower. She forced back another retch and sneezed violently, trying to force herself backwards and away from the smell. "There's a girl," Numair whispered to her. "That's it." He pulled her upright and braced her there between his arm and chest. Over his shoulder, he asked, "Water?" and as awareness gradually came back to her she realised that she had just been sick in Numair's doorway, and apparently with an audience to boot. She groaned and Numair squeezed her gently. "All right now?"

"Goddess no," she muttered, wishing she could vanish, and gave him a shaky smile. A tankard of water was passed over her shoulder and she clutched to it gratefully, still secure in Numair's grasp.

"Can you give us details?" Numair asked gently. He still hadn't tried to move her, despite the fact that they were crouched on the floor, barely inside his room. He crooked a finger and beckoned to the guards in the hallway, and they filed into his room. One, Tormos, held a glittering ball of scarlet magic. "Tell us what you know."

Daine tried to focus her thoughts and push the fear and nausea back. "There's a large group - fifty or so as the first wave, coming in from the north east and over the forest. They're maybe about ten miles away at most, but they're moving quickly. Second wave are around a hundred strong, with more of those ape things, about fifty, and –" she paused to estimate her numbers for a second, "– at least a hundred hurroks, three miles or so behind." Her head buzzed in protest at all the immortals rushing onwards as Tormos relayed her information into his speech spell, and her eyes refused to focus properly, aching at the light in the room. She'd never dealt with so many all at once. She swayed slightly, and Numair, who had been contributing to the guards' discussion around them, looked down at her in concern.

"This is really having an effect on you, isn't it?" he muttered, knowing that she wouldn't want the others to hear. She nodded, clamping her eyes shut, and Numair shifted his hand surreptitiously, sliding from her shoulder to settle on the nape of her neck. She could feel when his power surrounded her, because suddenly she could breathe again and the angry buzzing receded to the back of her mind. Squinting through barely opened eyes, she found herself surrounded in a white mist, her eyes no longer hurting. "I've got you magelet," Numair murmured. "Don't worry. It's a shield."

"Like at Griffin Rock," she agreed softly, her throat rough.

He grinned at her briefly before letting his smile fade. "Exactly. The others can't see it," the mage added as an afterthought.

"Thank you," she murmured gratefully, taking a sip of water.

Now Numair made an attempt to move her. "Let's get you to a seat, and then you can tell us what else you know." He gestured at one of the guards to help him, and suddenly Daine found herself flanked by Lachann. Between the guard and the mage, she managed to make it to one of the armchairs, Numair's hand never moving from the back of her neck. She caught Lachann giving him a strange look, but before the soldier could comment on it, Ùisdean called him away.

Numair perched on the arm of the chair, still with his spell surrounding her. "Now magelet, take a deep breath, and tell me what you can hear."

She shut her eyes again so she could focus on the sensations of immortal magic in her mind. She reiterated the figures to him before Numair instructed her to look closer to the Palace. "Kitten and Tkaa are all I can feel there," she told him, confused.

"So there are no immortals within the ten miles –"

"Nine now."

"Within the nine miles of the first fifty?" he corrected himself smoothly.

"Just the undines and the friendly ones in the Royal Forest. That's – Rikash," she managed to stammer out, finding one lone presence almost five miles from the city. What was he doing here? Had he turned sides?

Numair seemed to have a similar reaction to her. He cursed softly. "Kaddar," he called, seeing the Prince hesitating in the doorway of the room. "Go to that chest of drawers. Middle drawer in the top row, you'll find a collection of spelled and un-spelled amulets. Bring one of the clean ones over here."

Within no time at all, Numair had a small, cream-coloured disc, only a few centimetres in size, resting in his free hand. "I'm going to replicate the spell I have in place on Daine to this charm so that she remains protected without needing to maintain physical contact with me. Have you done this before, Kaddar?"

The Prince shrugged. "A few times, not too many. I've watched Lindhall –" he fell silent abruptly, and Daine saw Numair swallow, before nodding his head.

"Right. I'll go over the theory of it with you when we're in a more relaxed environment, but for now, I'll just –" Numair broke off as he sketched a rune onto the disc. Daine could see his magic stream from him and settle around the charm before being absorbed into it suddenly. At the same time, Numair removed his hand from the back of her neck, the shield around her dissipating without warning. Exhaling quickly with the shock of it, she clamped her eyes tightly shut once again and gritted her teeth against the overwhelming sensation of so many immortals moving in at once. A hand fumbled at the back of her neck with the tie of the leather thong she wore for a moment, before she felt something slide down the material to meet with the silver claw. All of a sudden, she could breathe again.

"Rikash's location?" Numair demanded immediately.

"Five miles to the east, roughly following the Conté Road." Within seconds, a speech spell sparked to life in the mage's hands.

"Rikash?" he said. Daine couldn't hear the answer, but when Numair snapped, "Actually, my name isn't Long Lankin," she assumed that he had indeed made contact with the outspoken immortal.

"Rikash Moonsword?" Kaddar queried at her other side. "The Stormwing? I thought you were enemies with him?"

"He helped us escape from Carthak," she informed him, only half listening as she watched Numair continue his conversation. The sound of her name pulled her attention fully back to the mage.

"Daine." He paused for a moment as Rikash responded to his answer. "Well of course I'm with her. No, the question is not 'Why aren't Daine and I at the Palace?' it's 'Why are you and hundreds of other immortals coming towards Corus?'"

Suddenly she gripped the mage's arm. "Numair, there's more coming from the south east. About sixty or so."

The mage nodded distractedly and repeated the news through the spell. After a moment or so, he glanced up at them. "Rikash says that those coming from the south east are his nation. Barzha and Hebakh should be with them. They were coming to warn us about the others. And –" he broke off. "Tormos," he called, glancing across at the other mage. "Inform his majesty that Lord Rikash Moonsword, Queen Barzha of the Stone Tree Nation, Lord Hebakh and their people are on their way to assist us against the invading forces."

Movement in the room stopped abruptly. "You trust them?" Ùisdean checked.

"We have no reason not to." Numair glanced at Daine and she gave him a grateful look. She could only hope that she was right about the unusual immortals who had declared themselves their allies.

* * *

Waiting for dawn to creep over the horizon, and hundreds of immortals with it, Daine watched with something like awe as the house readied itself for the coming onslaught. In all the movement to prepare, even Numair seemed to return to his old self; the Numair before the trip to Carthak. With each spell he laid, each suggestion he made, he explained the theory and the practice behind it to her and Kaddar, or promised to later whilst they had the time. Indeed, if it hadn't been for the physical changes that were so obvious on him, she could almost imagine that he had never heard of his mentor's murder. It was only when Abigail insisted they ate in preparation for what seemed like a long day ahead of them that she took her chance.

As soon as they were left alone for a few moments, Daine studied the mage closely. He looked worse than he had in months. The effects of his grief were plain to see on him: dark circles rimmed his eyes, and the fact that he'd barely come out to eat over the past few days showed in the gauntness of his face. Looking at him as he picked at his food, Daine wasn't even sure if he'd shaved in the past ten days; he certainly hadn't for at least a week.

He noticed her staring. "What?"

She fixed him with her gaze, refusing to let him look away. "Numair, you need to take better care of yourself than this."

"Not you as well," he sighed, putting down his spoon. "Abigail's already spoken to me this morning."

She raised an eyebrow. "What did you think, Numair? That I wasn't going to notice that you've been hardly sleeping or eating, or mention it? I'm _worried_ about you."

He crossed his arms defiantly. "You needn't be."

"I think I do. More to the point," she said casually, jutting out her chin determinedly, "I think Alanna will too."

"Don't mention it to her then."

"Why not? You're too stubborn to ask for help, Numair, and you're too proud to take it even when it's offered. At least Alanna might be able to find a way to make you listen."

"Alanna has enough to worry about," Numair retorted.

She scowled at him. "You making yourself ill isn't going to help Tortall."

He laughed dismissively, and Daine jolted back, unsteadied by his reaction. "As you've said so often, Daine, I can only do so much to help from in here."

It took a moment for her to be able to compose herself enough to speak calmly. "This morning you've warned the King about an immortal attack, found an ally for us in the Stormwings, and you've helped me cope with more immortals than I've ever felt before. Isn't that enough? And the sooner that you're healthy, the sooner that you'll be out there and doing even more."

Numair fell silent, glancing away from her and nudging his food distractedly with his spoon. As she watched him contemplate what she had said, she wondered when it was that the role of teacher and student had changed; when he had stopped only giving her the advice, and when he had started to take it too.

And it was then that she began to wonder when, even though they were still master and pupil in name, their relationship had shifted so slightly as to make them equals.

* * *

Fear settled over the city of Corus, so strong that Daine didn't have to take on Stormwing shape to be able to taste it. The unearthly grating of metal on metal drifted over the city, a result, she knew, of precisely sixty-three Stormwings resting covertly in the canopy of the Royal Forest.

Taking a deep breath, Daine slid down the wall in Numair's room, adjusting herself until she was comfortable, before taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. She let herself fall into the easy pattern of breathing she'd developed over the years, focusing on her core until the familiar copper magic floated in front of her eyes. Sinking into that, she allowed herself to drift across the city, using her influence to calm the animals and ask them for quiet, not caring how that behaviour would worry the human members of the city, directing wild and stray animals to the other side of the capital, and warning those that could to stay under cover, before she moved towards the Palace.

The warhorses and those trained for fighting pawed the ground in anticipation, recognising the effects created by the Stormwings, and feeling the coming battle. The hounds in the war kennels bayed their anger at the proximity of the immortals and the hawks in the Palace Mews bated anxiously. Several cats mewed angrily, their indignant displeasure clear; she grinned when she found some of the Palace toms positioned on the stable roofs, yowling crossly in the direction of the forest. Daine visited each of them in turn, telling them what was happening and asking them to follow the orders of their human masters. Next came the animals in the remainder of the Palace, the lap dogs of the nobles, the pet cats and rat catchers, and the rodents themselves. The menagerie animals also required her attention before she let herself concentrate on events inside the collection of stables.

Only a few stable hands were present in the Rider stables; many of the stalls contained one occupant more than they were designed to hold, and others were lined along the passageway in the middle; the spares of the Riders present at the barracks. Those who would be in battle were being readied outside by their riders. Most of those she knew, there were only a few new arrivals; Onua wasn't scheduled to leave on her annual trip to purchase new animals until next month, provided her trip wasn't hampered by the war. Daine worked silently at reassuring the ponies and horses who had been shepherded into the stables belonging to the Own, the Riders, the pages and the nobles. She could feel the whites of their eyes, the stamps of unhappiness and fear, and the twitching of ears every which way at each sound as if they were her own.

She managed to catch Cloud just before she bit the animal in front of her.

The last thing they need to deal with now is you creating havoc in the stables, she scolded her pony silently.

If you were here, I wouldn't be tempted in the first place, Cloud countered, moving as if to reach for the collar of the stable hand who was walking past on his way to the door, then pulled back at the last minute.

Daine raised an eyebrow, not able to prevent a small smile from touching her lips. No, we'd be standing outside and you'd be trying to bite some warhorse or other instead.

The horse snorted indignantly. You haven't spoken to me recently, she said after a moment.

Daine quickly informed her of the events in the house, and her worries about Numair, and then relayed the imminent arrival of hundreds of enemy immortals.

Where are they? the pony enquired.

Daine pulled her focus away from the pony for a moment, finding the large blot in her mind that was the mass of immortals. Near two miles off, she estimated. When they come, we don't know what's going to happen. Numair's been reading about these winged apes, but he hasn't found out if they have any sort of magic yet, and Rikash told him something about some kind of bombs Stormwings can activate with their magic. You have to be careful, Cloud. Promise me.

The pony switched her tail as the last hostler slipped through the doors and closed them behind her. I don't see why you're so worried now, she said tartly. You've left me here on my own for _moons_ now, and I've only had Mangle and Spots for company, and only when Onua or Stefan brings them down to the pasture.

Daine sighed, feeling guilt swell in her belly. Cloud, I've explained before. If I'd had a choice, you would be here with me, but I didn't. You wouldn't like it anyway. There's no grazing land, and you'd have to stay in the stable all the time.

Sweetbrier says they get the best oats at that place. Better than here. And apples every day.

When did you meet Sweetbrier? Daine asked curiously.

Her owner brought her to meet me. He said we'd get to know each other a lot more. The girl could hear the pony's smug tone. _He_ brought me oats, and he brushed my mane, just the way I like it.

Oh really? Daine murmured, ignoring Cloud's attempts to provoke her. Lachann hadn't mentioned he'd been to see Cloud. What did you think of him? she enquired conversationally.

The pony snorted. Sweetbrier was nice, but he smelled too much of the south. Stork-man's better herd for you.

Daine flushed. I told you not to mention that, she reminded her horse pointedly. She knew she'd regret telling her pony about _that_. Anyway, Numair's from the south too.

But he doesn't smell as fresh, the horse persisted. All oily and hot. Stork-man's marshy and damp. Much better for colder People like you.

You've said, Daine informed her drily.

How far are they now?

A mile, no more. Rikash's herd will be able to see them soon, if they can't already.

Cloud swiped her tail warningly at the pony behind her who was moving too close for her comfort. Cowards, she said scathingly. They won't come down and fight like real animals.

Daine began to reply when a few yells sounded outside, before being accompanied by the screams of humans and People alike. The mark in her mind was now a large golden smear across her magical vision. Metal clashed violently and Cloud's sensitive ears prickled at the ricochet of magical Gifts bouncing off of shields, both magical and metal. The pony tried to negotiate her way to one of the apertures in the wooden doors, pushing past and biting where she felt necessary. Only two metres from the door though, an explosion somewhere to the right of the building caused panic. The next came to the right of the horse from above, and Daine lost her grip on Cloud's mind when the pony beside her reared, one flailing hoof impacting painfully with Cloud's side.

Her eyes springing open, Daine surged to her feet, almost overbalancing with the rush of dizziness that came from the motion.

"Are you all right?" Kaddar asked. He was sitting in one of Numair's armchairs, a magical tome sitting open on his knees, apparently disguising his watching her with the pretence of studying.

"They've reached the palace. Where's –" She broke off when Numair came into the room. "It's started, Numair. I need to –" Searching for the mage's bed, she dropped onto it, before promptly shutting her eyes again. Before she could sink back into her magic though, Numair gripped her shoulders, distracting her. She tried to shrug him off. "Numair, Cloud's in trouble. I need to help!"

"And you will be!" he assured her. "Daine, we need to know what's happening in the battle and the whereabouts of the next wave of immortals. Can you tell us their location?"

"Numair," she began to plead, but the mage shook his head determinedly.

"You're our eyes and our ears just now magelet," he told her calmly. "We need all the information you can provide us with." He knelt down in front of her, placing a small mirror compact at her side. In his other hand, a small black and white ball floated just above his palm. "We need to know whether the Stormwings should fly out to meet them, or whether the best tactic is to battle the first wave and hope that they'll arrive after we've defeated them collectively."

She faltered, not used to the man speaking in tactical terms, and tried to focus on the task at hand. "The second group of immortals are almost at King's Gorge," she reported, naming a spot nearly two miles from the Palace. "They'll be on us before Rikash's nation have a chance to move."

Worry flashed through Numair's eyes. "Did you hear that?" he spoke into the mirror and the spell simultaneously.

Daine's eyes blurred as she felt the increasing panic in the stables. She snapped them shut furiously, suddenly hating her magic for putting her in this position in the first place. "They're fanning out," she warned them. "Their front covers nearly a hundred yards, ranks about three or four deep."

From somewhere, she heard King Jonathan's voice curse fluently. When she opened her eyes, she met Numair's raised brows squarely. He focused his attention on the mirror. "Jon, move some of the mages. Perhaps station them on the city walls, and along the pastures of the barracks." He tugged his nose for a moment with his free hand. "Remember you told me once about the shield mechanisms you'd found in the palace maps? Are they still useable?"

Jonathan's reply, when it came, was hesitant. "I've never tried," he admitted, his voice dimmed by the sounds of battle around him. "The last recorded use of them we have was more than a hundred and fifty years ago." For a moment, the king was diverted. "Commander Linden," his voice instructed, "there's a group of hurroks about to reach us in the north-north-east, in the direction of the pages' wing, and the winged-apes will arrive from the east in approximately five minutes over the ornamental gardens." Jonathan's attention turned back to them fluidly. "I know a student at the University was researching into them for his Mastery, but I haven't had time to read any reports for pleasure recently. My problem though, is that the shields will only defend the Palace and I will not leave the people of Corus unprotected." A series of bangs and yells of anger interrupted him, and the king raised his voice, barely concealing his anxious tone with one of business. "That would mean we'd be fighting from the streets, and at least if we fight here, it's relatively open until we reach the forest, and there are the minimum number of people at risk of being injured. We wouldn't have any sort of way to evacuate the residents into the protection of the shield in time, even if we had the room for them."

Numair murmured his agreement, then glanced back up at her with concern. "Jonathan," he asked the mirror, "What's happening in the Rider Stables?"

Daine took the opportunity to find out for herself. She slipped into the pony's mind, trying to see through her rolling eyes. Flames, fire, heat. An explosion overhead and a shower of sparks. Timber creaking and yells outside. Hooves stamped the ground and shrill whinnies of panic cut through the air. Her horse eyes stung, and Cloud tried to move towards the door, only to be met with unmovable wood.

Daine flew back to herself abruptly. "Cloud, get _out of there_," she all but yelled, despite the fact that the pony couldn't hear her.

Spell vanished abruptly and mirror fell to the bed as Numair grabbed her shoulders. "For the Gods' sakes, Daine, tell me what's happening!"

She swiped angrily at the tears which were suddenly sprouting from her eyes. "Fire in the Rider stables," she said breathlessly "And the doors are locked and they _can't get out!_"

Numair swore an oath under his breath. He couldn't seem to make up his mind whether to envelop her in a hug in comfort or to run to the window, and instead did both, lifting her off her feet as he dragged her, fumblingly, across the room.

The scene outside was chaotic. People stood in doorways and windows, pointing skywards, apparently heedless of the danger to themselves. Above, droves of immortals filled the air. The stench of fear and death covered the city, and Daine realised belatedly that it wasn't simply the presence of Stormwings that provided that effect. Whilst they couldn't see the Palace, the towers of smoke that billowed across Corus provided evidence of the fire, and several more besides, the occasional flash of mage fire - both mortal and immortal - danced across the clouds and smoke, and screams echoed across the city. Numair swore softly and wrapped her tighter in his arms, one arm coming to turn her head away from the scene and tuck it into his body protectively.

It didn't stop her from knowing what was happening though. Outside, what seemed like half the animal population of Corus had assembled. Birds lined every roof and windowsill, even those where humans were present, and she knew many were flying through the small holes in the shield and into her room. Dogs, cats and rodents filled the street, and she could even feel the soft brown of an escaped horse and donkey further up the road.

_Go quickly_, she implored them, but other than a few starlings taking flight and then promptly roosting again there was no movement. It was only when Daine whimpered in frustration that Numair realised the problem closer to home.

"Mithros!" he swore. "Daine, get them to move now!"

"I'm trying!" she hissed back. "They won't listen to me!"

"If they see that, they'll know where we are," he said flatly. "If the animals don't leave now, quickly, then the entire time we've been here will have been for nothing," he warned her.

"They're scared Numair!"

He pushed her back so he could see her face better and gripped her by the shoulders. "That's because you're scared. You need to get your emotions in check and rein your power in _now_. Take a deep breath, calm yourself, stop listening to the animals at the Palace and order them to go." His voice was tight and anxious, but authoritative all the same. "Use your will if necessary."

"But Cloud –"

"Cloud will be safe, magelet, I promise you."

"The building's burning down, Numair!" she exclaimed, aware her voice and panic was rising. "I brought her here and she's going to die because of it!"

"Daine," Numair said firmly, "Onua wouldn't let that happen." He shifted one hand from around her, a speech spell appearing in his hand as he opened his palm. "Jonathan," he said urgently. "The horses in the Rider stables are trapped. The doors are barred. You need to help them." Again, Daine couldn't hear the reply he received, but the mage nodded his head satisfactorily, albeit with jerky, harsh movements.

Flying back to Cloud's mind instantly, Daine saw the surprised face of Padraig as he pulled open the doors only to be met by a herd of animals fleeing for their freedom. In the panic that ensued as many of the horses darted for the relative safety of the forest, several foot soldiers from the regular infantry were crushed, and Daine winced in regret as the ponies collided with themselves and many other humans, causing further injuries. Cloud herself ran in the opposite direction, neatly dodging Onua as she made a lunge for the horse, and towards the Palace gates. Normally, Daine would have ordered her pony back to the Palace, but she couldn't bring herself to this time.

"Daine?" Numair was shaking her shoulder gently. "The animals?" he gestured out of the window again, the urgency in his voice clear.

Promptly she sat down, leaning against the wall next to his window, and went to work.


	19. Chapter 18: Proving Oneself

**I can only apologise for how long this has taken. Between various computer problems, ridiculous workloads and complete and utter loss of inspiration, it's taken far longer than I thought it would! It's also much harder than I thought it would be to write a battle which isn't technically a battle, and one that I only intended to last about 2 or 3 pages anyway! I'm still not entirely happy with this chap, and I've been helpfully informed that it's missing "something," but I don't know quite what that something is to stick it in! Also, for the record, I'm rubbish at cutting. Anyway, thank you again for all your reviews, but I have to say, Lindhall won't be doing a Gandalf…**

**Chapter 18**

* * *

Standing cross-armed in the middle of the room, pacing restlessly, Numair watched his student anxiously. Daine was leaning against the wall beneath his window-sill, cross-legged, her eyes shut and her face tormented. Her brow was creased into a frown, a slight sheen of perspiration evident on her forehead. Every so often, she'd twitch or flinch, and sometimes let out small, anguished moans.

He wanted to comfort her. His fingers flexed subconsciously, and he captured one hand in the other, trying to ignore the instinct that told him he couldn't. Teachers were allowed to comfort their students. He started towards her and crouched down, but the healing skin of his leg tautened and refused to let him. Numair sighed, glaring at his leg for a moment before dragging a chair across the room to sit beside her. His spelled mirror he rested beside him, the open speech spell to Rikash floating next to it. The mage leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as he watched the young woman. A slight twist in his Gift, and he looked at her magical aura. Copper surrounded her, wild extensions of herself, and when Numair moved forward, he could see similar bronze veins running through the animals outside. A thread of copper drifted out of the window, spreading to meet a group of cats who had settled on the roof of the building opposite; Daine's will, he realised, as, yowling their displeasure, the cats dispersed. Glancing back down at his student, he grimaced as she saw her face contract in a wince. Automatically, he reached a hand out, his thumb smoothing over the creases in her forehead.

"Numair?" Jonathan's voice emerged from the spelled mirror. Numair jumped, snatching his hand away from Daine. "Does Daine have any more to tell us?"

He glanced back at her. "She's somewhat occupied at the moment, Jonathan. She's trying to get the animals out of the way."

"I can't deny that wouldn't be useful," the king replied. "The ponies bolted, trampled half a squad of infantry and took a few other horses with them."

"Mithros," Numair whispered.

"We need to know if there are more immortals on their way, and if the animals surrounding us have spotted anything unusual on the ground." He paused for a moment. "Now would be the perfect time for a land invasion, and we're virtually blind compared to Daine."

"I'll ask her when she's finished."

"Well, make it soon, Numair, because all the information we can possibly gather is crucial."

Numair sighed. "Jonathan, I might not be able to communicate with animals, but perhaps I could scry for any further immortals or raiders?"

"Perhaps," Jon agreed, "Although I'm not sure how effective that will be as to providing exact locations."

Numair gave a silent sigh. It was one thing to feel useless; it was another entirely to have that be confirmed by your king, even if unintentionally.

He was silent for a moment, watching his student as she sat on the floor, doing what she could for her friends. It shouldn't be just her fight, he decided, it should be his as well. "Well, I might as well try," he announced.

* * *

"Master Numair?"

It was Kaddar's voice that drew Numair away from the bowl of water he was diligently focused on. He glanced up at the prince, and then waved his hand over the bowl of water, dispersing the image and collecting the remnants of his Gift.

"Have you seen anything?"

"No," the mage muttered with annoyance, before sighing and straightening, turning his attention to the young man. "What is it?"

He couldn't fail to notice that Kaddar was looking slightly disconcerted. "The guards say there is a horse standing at the gate of the house. It keeps looking in and they wondered if it might be one of Daine's friends?" The prince sounded hesitant, and Numair realised he was looking at the younger man oddly.

He offered a smile, realising that he must have seemed hostile to the newcomer. "It's not as unusual as it sounds," he assured him. "Remember what she was like with Zek, or her hyenas in Carthak. She's managed to gather almost half the animal population of Corus out there." He leaned towards the window to confirm his statement, before jumping upright and wincing as his foot complained. Most of the animals had gone, but, as the prince had reported, one lone horse stood at the entrance to the courtyard, stamping impatiently. "Cloud!"

Hurriedly Numair crossed the room to the model shield, almost hopping part of the way as his leg yelped in protest at the fast movement. "She's Daine's pony," he explained as he opened a space large enough to allow for the pony and no more. "I'll need to fetch her. She's a bit temperamental with others." Ignoring the fact that the last time he had seen her – before Carthak – Cloud had been 'temperamental' with him too, he glanced back at Kaddar as he left the room. "Don't let anybody anywhere near that –" he pointed at the model, "– and keep an eye on Daine."

Without waiting for a response, he hurried from the room. He hated to leave the shield open whilst a battle was – apparently – raging outside, but he knew exactly what Daine's reaction would be if he left Cloud out there for much longer. "Abigail," he called as he crossed through the kitchen, seeking a way to divert the woman. "Could you fetch my crutch for me? I'm not sure where it is, and my leg's hurting more today." He heard her assent as he entered the courtyard.

"Did Kaddar fetch you?" one of the guards asked as he stepped outside. Seeing the mage was limping, Graham crossed towards him and offered him a hand.

"She's Daine's pony," Numair replied, accepting the soldier's help after a moment's hesitation. He gave a small breath of relief as Graham braced his arm and glanced at him gratefully as they moved round the corner and towards the gate.

"Cloud!" Numair called when she came into sight. Pausing for a moment to shake Graham off, Numair slipped through the gap in the shield. As soon as he became visible to the pony, she surged towards him.

"Hey," he caught her around the neck before she knocked him over. "Are you all right?" He glanced around the street, hoping to avoid too much notice, before he led her back into the courtyard. "I hope you don't mind," he murmured to the pony, leaning on her, "but I'm sure Daine's told you about my injury, and I've somewhat overdone my running around for today." Cloud snorted and Numair felt a smile flicker on his lips. "Do you know, before I met Daine, I never thought I'd find the need to say this to an animal, but I'm so glad to see you again." She stamped impatiently, and he smiled fully. "Don't worry; I'm taking you to her." Ignoring the curious stares of the guards, he glanced into the kitchen, making sure Abigail wasn't there before he led the horse inside.

Numair was pushing the door to his room open when the maid found them. "What are you doing?" Her voice came from somewhere behind him, and Numair turned to face her. Cloud pushed her way inside the room, pulling his support from under him and forcing him to grasp the doorframe in support. He glanced back to see her nudging the motionless form of Daine as Kaddar watched in bewilderment nearby.

"Daine's horse," he explained briefly. "Abigail, the shield's open and I want to shut it sooner rather than later."

The maid scowled as she handed him his walking stick. "You can still speak whilst you alter the spell, Numair. Why is there a horse in the house? I don't care whose it is."

"Look at her," he said softly so that Kaddar wouldn't hear them, gesturing towards Daine as he painstakingly made his way to the model. "She's in pain just now. She's never dealt with as many immortals in one situation; from what she's told me, it's chaos at the Palace and there's animals dying everywhere. Meanwhile, I'm asking that she sends as many of her friends away from here as she can, and to do that, she has to force them." His voice dropped lower. "One less worry for her is one less for me, and if anyone can make her relax and feel better, it's Cloud." His fingers moved automatically to draw the required rune and close the shield whilst the woman studied the object of their conversation intently. "Besides, if you take a moment to look over Cloud, you'll see the injuries she carries. Daine would never accept anyone else healing her; she has enough difficulty knowing that someone else cares for her as it is."

Indeed, Cloud was marked by evidence of her ordeal. Flecked across her skin were small cuts and grazes, dried blood staining parts of her grey coat. Fire had singed away some of the hairs on her neck, and Numair had noticed a slight limp in the pony's gait as he led her inside. His student would feel awful enough for the condition Cloud was in, which would only add to the guilt Numair knew she felt about leaving her horse behind in the first place.

"Just let her stay," he implored Abigail, turning to look at her as the shield closed itself. "She won't make any mess; she'll be out in the stable tonight, and she behaves well enough as long as you don't hurt her or Daine. It'll be good for Daine."

"If it'll help," Abigail said hesitantly. Numair smiled gratefully, raising a hand to her face.

"Thank you," he murmured, his thumb stroking her jaw.

"You care a lot about her," she said, shrugging. He felt himself flinch, and shifted uneasily, struggling to compose himself.

"She's my student," he said offhandedly. "We've been through a lot."

She smiled at him, although he wasn't quite sure if he could see it in her eyes. "You've said." She tilted her head to one side, watching him intently. "I don't understand how –"

"Numair?" Kaddar's voice distracted him from the woman. "She's coming round."

"I'm not unconscious," his student's voice snapped quietly. It was rough, and Numair started towards her immediately, leaving the maid where she stood.

"Are you all right?"

Daine shook her head, staring at the floor for a moment. A hand appeared in Numair's vision, offering Daine a tankard of water: Abigail. She took it, murmuring gratefully, then yelped suddenly, dropping the tankard in a spray of water and jumped to her feet. "Cloud!" Within an instant, her arms were wrapped round the pony's neck, and she was sobbing into Cloud's mane.

As concerned as he was to see Daine in tears, Numair couldn't keep a small smile from touching his lips at seeing Daine back with her prized pony again. "Daine," he said gently after a moment, patting her on the shoulder. "Daine, Jon wants to know if the animals in the forest or around the city have seen anything that would indicate that we're about to be invaded."

Slowly she peeled herself away from the horse, turning to face him. Daine shook her head, and then winced, pressing a small hand to her forehead. "I haven't heard anything, but I haven't asked for that. Normally they would have told me though."

"I thought as much," he murmured. "I'll let Jon know. Keep an ear out though." He hesitated for a moment when she winced, but asked, "What's it like up there?"

"Horrible. It stinks of death and blood," she said shakily, turning to lean her head on Cloud's muzzle. Numair didn't ask how she knew, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

"Is there anything we can do?" Kaddar asked.

Daine shrugged, still not facing them. "Not from here. There's nothing any of us can do from here," she added, a bite of frustration in her tone.

"You sound how I feel," Numair murmured, forcing a choked, sharp laugh from his student. Ignoring the snort of warning from Cloud, he rested a hand on the pony's neck, leaning down in attempt to see Daine's face better. "How are you holding up? How's the spell doing?"

She shifted her head slightly, pressing her cheek against Cloud so that he could see her face fully. "It works," she said briefly. "I can still feel them, and there are a lot of them, but I'm not so dizzy now."

"It's temporary," he warned her as she shifted away from the pony. "You need to learn to adapt to that number all at once. You might not always have a mage with you to spell you."

She nodded. "I know. I'd rather it was now than in the future on some battlefield." She took a deep breath, readying herself. "Take it off."

"You're sure?" he queried. Daine gave a small nervous smile in answer that looked more of a grimace. The mage glanced at Abigail and Kaddar, flicking his eyes towards the door in a clear message, and waited until they had left the room before doing anything more. Numair lifted the amulet gently, checking in her eyes to see if she was prepared, before touching one long glittering finger to it.

Even if he hadn't been the one to remove the spell, Numair knew that he could have told when it had happened anyway. Daine took a sharp intake of breath through her mouth, gasping for air rapidly. Cloud whinnied worriedly as she scrunched her eyes shut and fought to overcome the sensations. After what seemed like hours to him, finally her breathing began to take a more meditative pattern and her balled fists began to loosen. Slowly, one eye opened slightly.

"It's not so bad," she said shakily.

Numair smiled and clasped a hand reassuringly. "You're doing well, magelet. The next step is to stand."

"Have we had this discussion before?" she said wryly, and Numair chuckled.

"Can you stand unsupported, or have you control of your balance now?" She looked unsure, so he helped her to her feet. Once upright, she clung to him for a moment. After a few seconds, she nodded and he released her, his hands hovering near her arms. Daine took a few, faltering steps away from him, and then paused, straightening her back and raising her head.

Numair watched her adjust herself, nodding when she felt comfortable. A slight frown was present on her face, but she looked almost normal. "I still feel sick, but I think I can bear it now." One small hand settled on Cloud's neck, stroking it reassuringly. To him, it looked more like she was trying to keep herself steady without looking as if she needed to. "Look at you," she murmured to the pony. "All these cuts and bruises. If you were a two-legger male, I'd tell you the scars you'll have will make you more handsome."

Numair smirked despite himself. "So I'm to take it you only said that to appease me?" he teased her. She forced a smile for him, but Numair could see the effort that it took her to try and remain looking normal. "You should try working without the spell," he said, giving her an excuse to sit down. "You'll need to be able to do that too, if you're to fight in this war, and besides, Jon needs someone to keep an eye out for more immortals and any movements on the ground."

After a moment she sighed, nodding. "You're right, of course," she said, glancing regretfully at Cloud. "It won't be for long," she whispered, more to herself than to her pony. She hugged her briefly, and sat back down, her eyes promptly closing. It took her several minutes to achieve the breathing state she needed for meditation, and the mage could see her eyes moving behind closed lids for some time more.

Numair watched for a while, looking for adverse reactions to the removal of the spell. He supposed it helped that the number of immortals might be falling, but from Daine's vague description of the battle, it didn't sound as if the Tortallans would come out of it without heavy losses. He could only pray that the fighting didn't move into the city itself. Eventually he sighed heavily. "Cloud, I'm going to look at spells. If anything happens – if Daine looks like she might be unwell, or she's upset – let me know."

The horse snorted what he could only hope was an agreement. Hesitating before he left, he pressed a light kiss to Daine's head, murmuring, "May the Goddess watch over you," as he did so.

The prince was already in the library, sifting through an aged grimoire. He gave the older man a rueful look as he took a seat. "I doubt there's anything I can do to help, from this distance, but it makes me feel better to look. Is Daine all right?"

"She's managing well, considering. Have you checked Tristram of Erse yet? I thought that he might have something to help."

For nearly half a candle mark, the two worked in silence, only exchanging occasional theories and murmurs as they passed scrolls and books between each other, and interrupted by reports from Abigail and Ùisdean of what they could see from outside.

"I feel thoroughly useless," Kaddar admitted into the silence eventually. Numair glanced up at him in surprise, and the prince shrugged. "This attack has the mark of my uncle all over it, and I'm doing absolutely nothing to help when your country is providing me with shelter and brought me to safety."

Numair took a moment to grasp what the younger man was saying, before rearranging his face and chuckling slightly. "Kaddar," he explained at the confused expression it was greeted by, "you have just uttered the exact sentiment that Daine and I feel." He glanced down at his hands. "At least she's doing something though, even if it is just acting as a glorified look-out. All I can do from here is make suggestions that no one possibly has the power to carry out and offer my – somewhat fallible – services at scrying. Not to mention my ability to communicate with the King and the Stormwings, which Jonathan is perfectly capable of carrying out by himself. It's nice of him to humour me though."

"Does he know you feel that way?"

Numair shrugged. "That I feel like an aggrandized messenger boy? I doubt it very much. His majesty seems to have very little appreciation for the fact that he's effectively imprisoned us for the past few months. We may be safer from Ozorne's men here, but we'd be far better use out in the field. Jon knows it too, but he's made very little response when I've questioned him about it. I send him weekly letters, most of which are replied to with 'Wait and see what Duke Baird says'."

The prince hesitated. "I hope it was not out of place for me to enquire, but I asked Daine about your injury." He paused until Numair nodded at him to go on. "She says that whilst she hasn't seen it personally in some time, she doubts whether it has healed enough to permit you the usual amount of movement required for the field work that you normally undertake."

Numair sighed. So Daine thought him unfit too. "Perhaps," he said finally by way of concession, although it was more because the prince looked concerned that he had offended the older mage. "But without the space to exercise it and redevelop my skills, it will be some time before we find out, and I fear that the war will have taken a critical turn before I am _judged_ to be fit enough. You must excuse me," he said, standing. "I have to ensure that Daine is not overstretching herself."

Walking as fast as his leg would allow him, he made his way hastily through to his room, closing the door behind him. Cloud swung her head around to see who it was, and then turned back to her mistress.

"She's all right, Cloud," he told her, making his way over to the bed. "I haven't let any harm come to her yet. Of course, you don't have to take my judgement for much – nobody else does."

The horse snorted unsympathetically.

Numair glared at her, easing himself back so that he sat against the headboard. "Out there, there's a battle raging, from all accounts, and I'm not even allowed to go and help. At least Daine is able to do what she can. Nobody thinks me capable of helping – not even my own Gods-blessed student. And do you know Cloud, I'm not entirely sure I blame them. My scrying is nothing if not ineffectual, I've already overexerted myself for the day and the only person I find suitable to confide into is a horse. If I didn't know you couldn't understand me, I'd think myself gone mad too." He gave a bitter laugh, and rubbed his face viciously with his hands.

A hot nose nudged him, and Numair uncovered his face to find himself staring Cloud straight in one of her large, unmoved eyes. The pony snorted and backed away to stand by Daine again. Numair looked down at where her nose had been, only to find a large, green smear there.

"I'll assume that means you're somewhat unsympathetic to my plight, then." Cloud flicked her tail, leaning down to nuzzle Daine again. For a moment she glanced up at him, before transferring her gaze to the model house that lay on the opposite side of the room and stamping as if to emphasise her point. If Numair had known any better, he'd have sworn that she was trying to tell him something.

Surely there must be a way that he could conceal the location of his Gift if he were to use it? Numair thought through several possibilities at once, and then pushed himself off the bed, walking towards the girl and her pony. "Wake her up, Cloud," he ordered. "Wake her up," he repeated when the pony's only response was to flick her ears vaguely in his direction. "It's important. You can bite me and eat my shirts all you want later, just wake her up now."

He took a seat in his earlier chair, watching intently as the features on Daine's face stirred and her eyes opened slowly. "Is it awful?" he asked at the pained expression in her eyes.

She swallowed, seemingly to compose herself before she spoke. "Horrendous. There are fires everywhere. Half the horses – even the gods-blessed war horses – are terrified, and another three have just bolted into the forest, taking their riders with them. I'd say around a third of Rikash's nation have been lost, and we barely seem to be making any headway against them. The only things we can use against winged enemies are archers, javelins and spears, and mages. Worst thing is, the immortals know that and they've gone for them first." She paused, rubbing a hand slowly over one eye. "If it doesn't turn in our favour soon, we'll sustain serious losses."

Numair frowned, watching emotions cross her face. She looked agitated, and kept glancing towards the windows as if trying to work out the quickest way out of the room. "Promise me you won't go up there." She didn't answer, so Numair gripped her shoulders tightly, refusing to allow her chance to escape. "Promise me."

"If it's the only way I can do anything to help –" she started, but Numair interrupted her.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Listen, I _need_ to do something to help, and I think that I may know a few ways of hiding where my Gift is coming from, and if I don't, well," he shrugged, "we're well protected. However, if I want to use my Gift, I need to see where to do it. You know how inconsistent scrying is, especially mine. I'm loath to trust it for accurate locations. You, however, you know where every single immortal is on that battlefield."

"Above the battlefield," she put in.

"Exactly." He offered her a tired smile. "I'd need to connect with you to do it." He watched her closely. "If it's too painful for you, tell me though."

For a moment, Daine broke eye contact with him. She glanced away, looking at Cloud instead, although that failed to hide the tears that he could see brimming in her eyes. A small hand reached up to run down the length of Cloud's head, and Daine glanced up at him, an eyebrow raised. "I'll do it," she said in a small voice.

"That's my girl," Numair said, smiling softly at her. He let her shift round so the she sat in front of him, her back resting against the shin of his right leg, her head tilted backwards on his knee. "I have to tell you, Cloud says if you get me any more upset, she _will_ take you up on your offer."

"That's good to know," Numair said as he placed his fingers on the soft skin of her temples, his large hands cradling her head securely.

They hadn't had the need to connect like this in months, but it felt almost like second nature when they did so. Almost as soon as he had closed his eyes, he could see Daine's copper magic and white core floating before him.

_Are you ready?_ she asked.

_Show me what you see_. The picture in front of him shifted, until he could see a mass of coloured lights.

_The red-and-gold are Stormwings, the grey-gold are the apes and the brown-gold are hurroks. Rikash's lot are here, here and here _– lights flashed before him too quickly for him to really register what the subtle difference was between the Stone Tree Nation and the invading forces. – _and see this brown here? This is the Fourth Riders, the Royal Arrows and Spiderdeath are over there to the east, and that's half of First Company right in front of you._

_And you can tell all this just by their colours,_ Numair murmured, more to himself than anything else.

_If you'd picked and trained most of the horses here, you'd know them by sight too. It's like you always know the Gift of any of the mages you've worked with. _She didn't give him time for contemplation before she said, _What exactly are you wanting to do, Numair?_

_The Stormwings are causing most trouble with their explosives just now, aren't they?_

_More or less, _Daine confirmed. _The hurroks are getting a bit nasty too though. What are you going to do?_

_A net. If I can restrain them and place restrictions on their magic, that will be a start. I don't know what we'll do with them all then, but it's the best idea I've got just now._

Daine helped him pick out five of the Stormwings who she was sure were part of the attacking force, and Numair set about the business of attaching his Gift to them and weaving a spell from his magic that would contain them. It was a time-consuming process, and he could tell that his student was getting distracted by the battle going on around them. However, Numair was unwilling to rush the first large magic he had properly performed in some time, not at a critical moment like this. He watched anxiously as he set the spell in motion, beginning slowly to drag its victims to their confinement.

_Have you told the King what you're doing?_ Daine asked suddenly.

_No,_ he realised. _He'll recognise my Gift though. They'll know it's me._ He grinned as his magic bound the five Stormwings together, and with a further twist of his mind, they vanished. Daine jumped, and her relief was palpable through their connection.

_Can you do that again?_

_If you show me where to direct it._ Four more Stormwings fell pray to his Gift, and then the fiery white lines that marked his magic closed around three more immortals; apes this time. It was getting harder for Numair to keep his breathing controlled under the exertion of the spell, but he knew he was capable of more than just two spells and a few small magics throughout the day. The mage completed the spell with a final and unnecessary flourish of sparks; he wanted to prove to Jonathan that he was more than capable of managing in battle, despite what the king might think.

_What's causing more damage?_ he asked his student. _Hurroks or Stormwings?_

_Barzha's Nation are holding their own against the Stormwings left, more or less. If you take another group like you did before then you'll have turned the tide._ She paused for a moment, and the lights Numair could see flickered as her concentration wavered. _Are you sure you can manage one more, Numair? I can see your Gift, remember, and it's looking small._

He pushed aside her concern, scoffing. _Nonsense, Daine, I'm fine. I can certainly 'manage' this one, and a few more besides. Remember, I have reserves that you can't see._

_If you're completely sure_, she replied, although she sounded doubtful, and Numair remembered with sudden clarity his earlier conversation with Kaddar. Daine didn't think he was capable either.

_I am_, he repeated. _Archers can manage the hurroks_, he reasoned to himself, _but Stormwings can do damage with their magic and bombs. Another group of them would be best – maybe five or even six this time_.

Daine was right; his Gift was dwindling, and Numair found himself having to draw upon the stores he'd set by in his black opal pendant, partly so that Daine wouldn't be able to see such a visible decline in his Gift itself. Still though, he eased his magical restraints around his chosen immortals, capturing seven this time, and ignoring the increasing sense of worry from Daine, completed the spell, although it took even more effort. Taking a few deep breaths, he readied himself again. _Once more_, he instructed.

_No_, came the reply.

_Daine, I'm fine_, he assured her, although it was far from the case. _Once more, and then I'll stop._

_No!_ she exclaimed. _I won't do it anymore._ Suddenly she was gone from his mind and Numair was blind to the colourful sparks of magic. He opened his eyes to her fierce glare.

"Look at you!" she cried. "Look at you," she repeated. "You're as pale as Abigail when she saw me transform for the first time; as white as Lord Martin when Alanna threatens him."

Despite himself, Numair snorted at her comparisons.

"It's not funny," she warned him. "What do you need?"

"Nothing," he tried to say, but his throat failed him, and his breathing was still rapid.

"Water," Daine supplied. "Water, bed, and maybe a little food, if you can keep it down."

"Daine," he managed finally, "there's still more to be done. I'm good for one more spell at least." He reached for her hand, grasping her fingers and preparing himself to connect to her once more, but she skipped out of his way, tugging her hand free. She stood warily on the other side of the room.

"I told you, Numair, I'm not having any more part in this. You'll overreach yourself and then I'll be without you as well, and Ozorne will have gotten his way without even trying." Her voice had risen an octave, and her face was panicked. Cloud moved to stand in front of her mistress, her teeth bared in an ugly threat to the mage. "I'd wager," Daine said flatly, trying to bring herself under control again, "that you're too exhausted to stand up by yourself."

About to get up in attempt to prove her wrong, Numair faltered in the face of her anger.

"Exactly," she said through gritted teeth.

"I'd forgotten how intimidating your wrath could be," Numair admitted, trying and failing to bring a smile to his student's face.

Instead she glared at him, passing his crutch to him, and offering the tired mage a hand to his feet. Cloud stood on his other side and allowed him to sling his arm over her back and lean on him, sighing to let him know that the only reason she tolerated him doing so was because Daine had bid her to. Hesitantly the three covered the short distance to his bed, Daine holding back the covers as Numair dropped into the bed. She eyed him critically and shook her head.

"Can't you content yourself with knowing that you've done more than anybody else today? I don't know who you're trying to prove yourself to," she said testily, "but nobody, and least of all Abigail, is going to appreciate it if you kill yourself in the process."

Numair scowled at that, crossing his arms irritably. Daine shrugged and left; Numair could hear her in the kitchen, clattering around and no doubt relating his behaviour to Abigail.

"It's you, you silly girl," he murmured. "I'm trying to prove myself to you." He sighed, covering his eyes with a large hand and scrubbing his face rapidly, barely noticing Cloud's ears flick interestedly towards him at his remark. Unhelpfully, he added, "I think I'm going to be sick."


	20. Chapter 19: Visitors and Explanations

**Aaah! Sorry it's been so long. Between one thing and another (re-reading, then reading new Harry Potter, new job which makes me never want to look at a computer screen again, mourning the death of certain HP characters and having to indulge my fondness for Shoebox, and just, you know, life in general) I've been sort of putting this off for a while. (I'm also sorry I haven't had a chance to reply to any of the last lot of reviews. I'll sort that out soon as well!)**

**So, I guess I should thank you lot for sticking around all summer, waiting for an update, and especially those of you who review, and even more so, the ones who've been doing so since the start! And a special wee note to **_**le **__**Gingernut**_**: Congratulations! All you have to do now is get an A in an Advanced Higher (preferably Art), and I'll shut up!**

**Maybe.**

**Anyway, time to get on. The vast majority of characters and settings are the creation of Tamora Pierce, though I stake my claim to Lachann, Abigail and Ùisdean!**

**Chapter 19**

* * *

"Daine?" Numair asked amiably, for the fourth time that day, "Could you please, please keep it down? You know I've got a headache."

In response, Daine thumped the cover of her book closed heavily, turning to glare at him. "You're lucky all that you came out of that with was a headache and some nausea, Numair." His student was yet to forgive him for his excessive use of magic in the previous day's battle.

"And you, Daine, and the rest of this city too, are lucky that Harailt managed to realise what spell I was using, or the outcome of that battle would have been far worse than it was."

She sighed irritably and narrowed her eyes at him. "When will you take credit for what you did?"

"It wasn't even twenty! Out of hundreds of immortals, my killing twenty is not much to be proud of. If you'd been there, you would have shot as many in less time than it took me." _And with less energy expended too_, he added silently.

"Modesty doesn't suit you," she said icily instead. "Besides, how will you ever win over ladies' hearts if you aren't reminding them of your brave deeds?"

"You make me sound like Evin Larse," he countered, ignoring the flush he could feel growing in his cheeks.

"At least Evin has the good sense to stop when he knows he is exhausted!"

"Do you know, magelet," he began calmly, "sometimes there's no winning with you. You would have done the same, given the situation. In fact, as I recall it, you pushed yourself just as much as I yesterday. It was _you_ who alerted us to their arrival," he began ticking points off on his fingers, "_you_ who managed to control and steady most of the animals," Numair raised a hand to stop her interjection of protest, "and _you_ who guided me yesterday. If I had managed to do anything as much as you, the Palace wouldn't be in the state it is now." Her words from yesterday still ringing in his ears, he added, "If I didn't know any better, I'd suggest that _you_ were the one who was trying to impress someone."

For a moment she was speechless, but then she stood rapidly, saying, "I'm going to check how Cloud's healing is coming," and left.

Numair growled in frustration as she stomped out of the room. He would have gotten up to follow her, but his head was still spinning from the use of his Gift, and he knew better than most that calling after her wouldn't make a difference. He should really have been asleep anyway, or at least in bed recovering, but his need to show his fitness demanded that he didn't. His pride.

"You two will come to blows one of these days," Abigail remarked from the doorway. "Not literally of course, but anyone could notice the tension between you."

"Probably," Numair shrugged helplessly. "What can I do? We're like two caged animals in here. There's bound to be an argument at some point, with nothing to distract us from our brooding."

"Well, you've got me," Abigail supplied, sliding into the seat next to him. "And Daine's got her pony now, and her friend Kaddar –" Numair sighed angrily despite himself "– and there's always Lachann."

The fingers which were kneading the bridge of his nose stopped abruptly. "What about him?"

"Well, you know." Seeing after a moment that he clearly didn't, she asked hesitantly, "Hasn't Daine spoken to you about him yet?"

"She's mentioned him a few times." Already Numair was on his feet and intending to follow Daine outside. "Nothing specific."

"Numair, don't go chasing in there and demanding to know what's going on. She's got every right to –"

The woman was interrupted by Daine bursting back into the room, her anger with Numair apparently forgotten. Completely oblivious to what they had been discussing, she grinned widely. "Numair! There are people coming from the Palace. George and Raoul's horses are definitely there."

Any thought of Daine and Lachann immediately left his head. "Is there anyone else?"

"King Jonathan." She smiled. "Do you think he's coming to tell us we can leave finally?"

Numair couldn't help but let a small smile touch his lips too. "Mithros will it," he said in reply. Maybe he had finally shown what he could still do. Instantly he began issuing orders in preparation for their arrival. "Daine, tell the Own what to expect. They might want to brush themselves off a little if they know their commanding officer and the king are coming. And tell Kaddar too; Jon more than likely wants to talk to him about his uncle. Abigail, perhaps you could prepare something special for them. I'm – I'd better – sit."

They met them in the courtyard not half a candle mark later.

"A royal visit. Aren't we privileged?" Numair said as Jonathan dismounted.

His remark was met by a sharp nudge in the ribs from Daine, who was clearly of a mind that if they were nice enough to the king, he'd let them out. He saw George shoot a barely concealed wink at Daine before Jonathan deigned to answer.

"Don't you have some sort of shield that you need to close?" he asked as George clapped him on the back in greeting.

"That was some show you put on yesterday, lad." The knowing glint in the Spymaster's eye made Numair think that he knew that any extra flair the spell had shown had been a deliberate move.

He scowled in reply and headed inside, trying his best to conceal his limp; whilst the others congregated in the kitchen exchanging greetings, the mage left them to attend to the shield spell. Numair hadn't even realised he had been followed until, in a very un-kinglike moment, Jonathan whistled in appreciation of his model.

"It's so intricate," he murmured. "The model must be precise to the smallest detail. And the spell too. I've never seen anything like it created by just one mage. It must have taken you hours."

"It did," Numair replied coolly, completing the spell and closing the shield. "Daine mapped it for me as a bat, and I took the picture she had built up and replicated it with my Gift."

"Perhaps after the war is finished, I can put you to working on those shields we spoke about yesterday. It would be a task of titanic proportions, but this convinces me that you're more than capable of it."

"You sound confident," Numair couldn't help but point out.

The king frowned for a moment, his eyes downcast, before meeting the man's gaze. "I have to be. The country must take its lead from me, and if I am not, then it means others won't be either, and if I can't convince the people to fight for me, then I may as well never have been crowned in the first place. Come," he said, steering the mage away from the model and towards the waiting group. "We have much to discuss, and little time to do it in."

"Master Numair," the Knight Commander smiled at him. "I hear it is you we have to thank for the turnaround in yesterday's battle."

"Sir Raoul," Numair greeted him in reply.

George interrupted, grinning, "He ain't a Sir now, lad. He's a Lord."

Raoul cuffed the Spymaster lightly. "Shut up, George. Numair," he met the mage's outstretched hand.

"So what did you do to deserve that accolade?" Numair enquired as he led the group through to the study.

"It was nothing out of the ordinary really," the knight began to protest, but Jonathan, over Numair's shoulder, stopped him with an outstretched hand.

"He rode into a village with just two squads of the Own and ten ogres and defeated almost three times their number of the enemy," the King said. Numair knew him well enough to detect the concealed tinge of pride in the monarch's voice.

"Really?" Daine asked.

"No, Jon, you've got it all wrong," George broke in. "He rode in all on his own, with a single lance, and speared every Stormwing, hurrok, and Carthaki in sight. At least, that's what the bards were singing in the Naxen's Fancy last night," he amended, winking at Daine.

"I never said that he did it on his own," Jonathan objected.

Raoul snorted. "You didn't give the Own a raise though, did you?"

The king glared at him. "I can assure you, _my lord_, that their war purses will be all the fatter for their involvement." He folded his arms, automatically taking the seat at the head of the table. "And you didn't have to accept the peerage if you didn't want it." Raoul fell silent and Jonathan let a slight smirk form on his lips, before turning to Numair and Daine with an expression of concern. "Is Kaddar prepared to talk with us? It's best that we speak sooner rather than later."

Daine shot a glance at Numair, and only when he gave a slight nod did she rise from her seat. "I'll get him."

As soon as Daine has closed the door behind her, Numair rounded on Jonathan. "Jon, when can we get out of here?" he demanded in a hushed voice.

The king shook his head. "I need you fully –"

"Look," Numair said, gesturing to his leg. "I'm walking without a crutch, sometimes it's hardly stiff anymore, and it's not going to improve any further!"

"Abigail told me that you were on your crutch yesterday," George interrupted softly.

Jonathan glanced at him before looking back at Numair. "Can you take the stairs?" he asked. The Jon he knew as a friend had disappeared completely and been replaced by the hardened monarch.

The mage glared at his king. "I hardly see how my ability to climb stairs is relevant."

"I assume that means you cannot. I'd also assume that means you cannot run, in which case, Master Salmalín, you aren't fit for battle."

"I am!" he protested, although somewhere inside him, a traitorous voice agreed with Jonathan. That voice murmured to him that he wasn't particularly fit for much, anymore. For what felt like the first time in months, Numair ignored it. "That's not the real reason you're keeping the pair of us in here," he said, lowering his voice.

Jon met his glare stubbornly. A regal hand dismissed their companions, and only when they had gone, George closing the door behind them, and the sapphire blue of his Gift cloaked the doors and windows, did Jonathan shake his head.

"Thayet wants to command one of the armies that goes north."

About to bristle that that was irrelevant, Numair paused, reconsidering. He suddenly understood his king. "She's a good commander. You should utilise that."

Jonathan sighed, for the first time, his kingly mask slipping. "I know, but – she's my wife. I'd rather not put her at any more risk than this war brings by itself."

"You'd be better not to say that in her hearing," he warned.

A faint smile touched Jon's lips. "I know it well, believe me. I've already suggested that she increase the size of her guard, and – well, her tongue lashings may not leave physical scars, but I feel them all the same." He tugged at his tunic, straightening it as he sat up. "As monarch, it's my duty to protect my people and my land. However, to fulfil that role, I often have to put my friends and my soldiers at risk." He waved a hand towards the closed door. "Raoul is about to be put out for a second time, and the only reason he had to come back to Corus in the first place is to recruit for the losses Third have already sustained. Come summer, Alanna will head north with almost a thousand men under her command, and for all of those I send with her, George and Myles will still worry sick about her. If they didn't have crucial jobs to do themselves, I doubt very much would restrain them from joining her, no matter how old Myles may be. Buri is already in the field, although we haven't had a report from her in over a week, which I know worries Thayet endlessly. There was an assassination attempt on Gary last week, and I am almost tempted to send Uncle to Naxen, if I thought it would mean he was any less stressed. So you see, Numair, to protect my people, I have put some of my dearest friends in the most dangerous positions where they face their deaths. The longer I can protect two of you, as selfish as it may be of me, the better."

Numair nodded in a gesture of sympathy to the man, before leaning forward across the table that separated them. "The effect that all this has had on Daine – I could hardly bare to watch her during the attack. I've never seen her so distressed, knowing that she couldn't help – that she couldn't do _her_ duty. Jonathan, to fulfil your charge, you must utilise _all_ the skills within your reach. I knew that when I swore my oath of fealty to you, and Daine knows it too. Whether that's the Dominion Jewel, me, or Daine gathering information from animals for us, it must be done. And neither of us can do that from in here."

Jon met his gaze and held it. "I realise that, Numair, and that's what I fully intend to do, but you're still at risk from Ozorne –" he held up a hand to stop Numair's protests. "I know. You'll be equally at risk from him out there as you are now, but here, Numair, you're under an impenetrable shield. You _are_ better protected, and regardless of all those issues, I don't believe you fit enough to endure the battle which we are facing yet. Your movement is still hampered, is it not?"

After a moment, Numair sighed, relenting. "Yes."

"And I'm sure you're unwilling to let Daine leave the house without you?"

"Of course," Numair answered quickly, before catching himself. "I'd rather I knew that I could protect her myself," he explained.

"Which leaves you in the same position I am," Jon finished.

"I suppose it does," he agreed finally, then glanced at the king with a small, relenting, smile. "When you put it like that, suddenly I understand your motives better than ever."

* * *

"They're here. Are you ready?"

Kaddar looked across his room at Daine. In the fortnight or so since he had arrived, the Prince had almost begun to look like he had in Carthak; less tired and anxious. He'd confided to her that knowing he was sleeping under one of Master Numair's creations let him sleep better than he had in months. Now though, his face was tight and apprehensive, and his movements seemed stiff as he crossed around his bed to the doorway of the room.

She tried to smile reassuringly. "They just want to know what happened, Kaddar. It's not as if they blame you for any of it."

He grimaced. "Master Numair might."

Daine shook her head as they made their way downstairs. "Numair knows none of it was your fault," she corrected.

The prince paused for a moment. "How will he react to it though?" he asked eventually.

Daine bit her lip. She'd been wondering the same thing. "He'll manage," she said finally. "He was just shocked when you told us. Neither of us were prepared for it. He will be now." She nodded at the prince to go through the door behind which the congregation were gathered. "It'll be fine. You'll be fine."

Kaddar settled himself in a chair as Daine slipped into the seat beside him, across the table from where Numair, Abigail and George sat, the latter with an expression of undisguised concern on his face as he watched Numair, who was staring moodily at the table. The prince shifted uneasily in his seat, clearing his throat.

Jonathan smiled reassuringly at him. "Kaddar, thank you for this. I appreciate that this may be hard for you, but I'm sure that you understand we need to discuss what you know sooner rather than later. I know that you've already spoken to George, but we need as much information you can provide us with," he said. "We thought too that it was best that Ùisdean and Abigail knew the extent of what we may be dealing with."

The prince nodded stiffly, glancing at his hands which were folded on the table, then cleared his throat to begin. Much of what he told, Daine already knew from her conversations with him on his day of arrival, and she caught sight of Numair nodding at some points, occasionally even furnishing Kaddar's tale with further details of the rebellion. He had apparently been more involved that Daine had ever realised, and more than once she wondered how she could have failed to notice her teacher sending large magical artefacts to Carthak, or occasionally even harbouring fugitive slaves and helping them establish themselves in the country, but then, there had always been aspects of Numair that she knew little about. Even George looked mildly impressed at some of the things he had managed to conceal from them all, although Jonathan did not look quite as surprised. She supposed he must have known some of what Numair had done, and by the sounds of it, signed documents and warrants where necessary.

Finally, when Kaddar reached Lindhall's death, he paused for a moment, looking Numair directly in the eyes as he recited the tale. "Lindhall took them all on, even my uncle. He managed to kill four before Ozorne murdered him. But he saved my life - he gave me enough time to run whilst he diverted them."

"Soft-headed idiot," Numair murmured affectionately after a moment. Daine studied him closely. She had almost been expecting Kaddar's story to bring back Numair's wild grief. Instead, he seemed more relaxed than she had seen him in weeks. His eyes glittered, although Daine could see more than unshed tears reflected in them.

When Kaddar had finally finished, Numair stood up slowly. Walking around the table, he laid a gentle hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Thank you," he said, quiet enough for only Daine and the Prince himself to hear, before nodding his head in farewell, which the Prince returned in kind. The spell over the door opened just wide enough for Numair to slip through, before closing behind him.

Abigail had stood up hurriedly, meaning to follow. Daine reached out a hand to the woman when she passed her. "Don't," she told her quietly. "He needs time to think."

Abigail sniffed. "And what makes you so sure?" Instead though, she turned round, facing the company. "Would anybody like refreshments?"

Daine sat back smugly as Abigail bustled from the room to fetch the requested food and drink. At least Numair would manage to be on his own until Abigail had finished her duties as a maid. Hopefully Daine would even be able to postpone her until she returned to clean up. All going well, she could to give the mage at least half a bell alone with his thoughts. _She_ knew, even if Abigail didn't, that that was most likely what Numair wanted and needed at a time like this.

* * *

"Are you all right, Numair?" a soft female voice asked from the doorway.

Numair didn't move his gaze from the fire as he heard her come into the room. "I thought Daine would have found a way to keep you away from me for a while."

The woman sat down beside him. "She tried," Abigail agreed ruefully. "But she seems to have underestimated my persistence."

He let out a soft chuckle. "Apparently so." He watched the flames dance in the grate, waiting for her to speak again.

"Daine says that Ozorne used the same spell on your friend as he did on you."

He was silent for a moment longer before he could bring himself to answer her. "It seems like it," he said eventually. "He always used it in different strengths."

"Then you're lucky to be alive," Abigail said, reaching across the space between them for his hand.

Numair slid it away, pretending he hadn't seen the motion. "Hardly," he muttered.

Abigail folded her arms in front of her. "Numair, you are far better off alive. Believe me." Her voice was hoarse enough to make Numair wonder who she had lost.

"It seems to me that Lindhall has been the lucky one in all this," he countered softly. Abigail scoffed in protest, but Numair carried on. "When we were younger, it was always the ones who Ozorne left alive that I felt sorry for. The ones who had to carry on with their lives and cope with the damage he'd inflicted. The people like me. I'd feel sorry for people like me. Those who he killed outright were better off."

Abigail's voice, when it came, was thick with held-back tears. "That's - that's nonsense. Lindhall did much in his death, but you can do more alive."

"You didn't even know him."

"But I know _you_, Numair. I know how hard this has been on you. Lindhall died to protect what he thought was the right cause. But you can do more now than you could have if Ozorne had killed you."

"You heard Jon in there," Numair said dismissively. "He doesn't believe me fit. I'm worthless to him like this. I'm worthless to Tortall."

The maid sniffed discreetly, wiping her eyes on a handkerchief. Again, Numair pretended not to see. "Don't ever let me hear you speak like that again, Numair Salmalín. I won't have it." She stood, moving so she could crouch down beside him, and pressed one hand to his cheek, forcing him to meet her eyes. He could feel her damp handkerchief crushed against his skin. "The King wants you recovered enough so that he knows you'll be capable when the time comes, because he doesn't want your death on his hands. He needs you as much as Tortall does. You are _far_ from worthless, Numair. Don't you see?"

This time, he couldn't ignore her tears. He pulled her upright, letting her rest on the arm of the chair, and encircled her with his arms. "Don't cry because of me," he murmured finally, pulling her into his body. "I'm not worth it."

She pushed herself away from him, fixing him with a stern eye. "Weren't you listening, Numair? You _are_ worth it. Worth every tear, I'd wager. And I know a few others who would too."

Numair didn't hear the last of her words as he drew his lips firmly to hers.

* * *

Daine was sat at her desk, attempting to read one of the books she'd borrowed from downstairs, her eyes restlessly flicking over the same paragraph again and again, trying to concentrate enough to decipher the words. She sighed finally, shutting the cover with a thump and pushing it away from her with annoyance. She could hear them downstairs; Numair and Abigail in his room – they had been talking, but now they were conspicuously silent. Her skin crawled with aggravation at the thought of what they might be doing, and she tried to push the thought away, annoyed at herself. The others were still in the study – she could distinctly hear George's drawl, although she couldn't quite make out what he was saying, and the odd comment being added in by Kaddar, Ùisdean and some of the other guards. For once, the house was full to bursting with people, and yet that creeping sense of loneliness still pricked at her. Biting her lip absently, Daine stood, making her way over to the door that led up to the attic.

Just about to slide her finger into the small space between wall and door, she paused at a tap on her bedroom door, pinching her lip between her teeth in irritation. She might have been feeling lonely, but she was in no mood for company either. Casting around the room for an excuse, her eyes settled on the bed. She could always pretend to be asleep…

The knock came again, louder and more persistent this time. "Come in," she sighed instead, dropping on to her bed.

Jonathan's head appeared in the doorway. "I'm not interrupting you, am I?"

Daine gestured at the book sitting closed on the desk. "Only me contemplating excuses for Numair as to why I've not read my assigned chapter. Come in," she repeated.

The king came into the room fully, pulling the chair out from her desk and sitting in it with his legs stretched out in front of him, a large package placed beside him. As he paused for a moment to examine her book, not for the first time, Daine thought it strange that she was so relaxed in the company of a monarch that she didn't have to bother greeting him formally.

"He works you hard here," Jonathan commented finally.

"Nothing else for us to do, really," she said, only partly attempting to conceal the bite of frustration in her voice.

The king sighed. "Daine –" he started, but she interrupted him.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "It's just – it's very frustrating. We're stuck here, and the only entertainment we get is through a change in the guards or the gossip that Abigail brings in from the market a few times a week. I think Numair's almost read everything in the library, we've had so much time here."

Jon grinned at this. "I never expected anything less," he admitted. "I'll see if I can't get something done about changing the books for you." He leaned forward, tucking his legs under the chair and bracing his arms on his thighs. "I understand how you feel more than you could believe, I think," he smiled softly. When I was your age – maybe the same age as Kaddar perhaps, or slightly older – I felt as trapped as you do now. I could leave the Palace and such, but my parents – if I left the Palace for more than a day, they'd send search parties out, and rightly too, I suppose now." Seeing her expression, he added, "I know, it doesn't seem like much."

"Sorry," she murmured ruefully.

"Not at all," he waved a hand. "It wasn't so much that I was physically confined though. The role which I was being prepared for was – and still is, at times – very confining. I was raised _knowing_ about the responsibility owed to my people, and the expectations that would come with it. The fact that not only was I to rule a country, but that the country would need me to rule it was somewhat daunting." He smiled conspiratorially at her. "Sometimes it still _is_ daunting." Jonathan rubbed his beard contemplatively. "I used to be jealous of people like Alanna and Raoul – even Thayet and Buri, in fact. They could travel wherever they wanted – what's more, they had travelled, and as far as the Roof of the World. Thayet still goes when she can – you know that – whereas sometimes it feels like I haven't even visited half my kingdom, I've just read about it in reports and seen it on maps. That's why I go on progress now; I've visited more of Tortall than my father ever did, and yet I still feel confined."

The king paused for a moment, looking the closest to embarrassed that Daine had ever seen him. "I suppose it's not much, to compare growing up in the Palace to life here for several months. That's not why I've come here, of course. I have something for you." He leaned down, picking up the parcel that sat beside him. He grasped the package for a moment, turning it over in his hands. "I don't know if you've been told quite the extent of the fire damage in the attack. The Rider stables were burned to the ground, and the Own have lost around a fifth of their barracks, and the roof of their stables has gone. The Rider barracks –" he broke off.

"The Rider barracks?" she prompted after a moment, not caring that it was rude. "What's in the package?" she asked when he still didn't answer.

He paused for a moment before handing it to her. "The Rider barracks was also severely fire damaged. Thayet is most upset, understandably. Almost all the Rider supplies have been destroyed. Uniforms, tents, blankets, tack, records – I thank Mithros that the maps that they've created for us are kept in the Palace itself and not in the barracks."

"Where was the fire?" she pressed softly.

"Most of it was contained to the supplies room but some of it spread. Structurally, the female trainees' room may be unsound, and your room – most of it was unsalvageable. I'm sorry."

Daine was silent for a moment, eventually shrugging. "It's not your fault. And it's not like I have – had – that many material possessions there anyway. Most of it was just clothes or some books, and they're replaceable. It's not like anyone was hurt."

The king offered her a smile, one that not so long ago would have made her a useless, stumbling, stuttering heap. "Daine, you're far more mature than your years suggest, and I'm grateful for it. We need a clear, smart head around these days." He stood. "I'll leave you to it. I'm waiting for some reports to come in from the east and the north-western coast and I promised Thayet I'd help where I could with the clean up. You'll find," he added, nodding towards the abandoned book, "that a large-scale immortal attack will probably prove more than adequate as an excuse for not finishing."

Daine smiled at him, hoping she appeared grateful, and muttered her farewell, her attention already shifting to the parcel with some apprehension. She'd lied when she said it didn't matter. Now the only home she'd known for the past few years, her refuge, had been lost to fire, and all – albeit only a few – of her possessions had apparently been lost with it.

She scrubbed her face before taking a deep breath and unwrapping the paper on the bulky package. She retrieved a book first, its cover charred but its pages mostly unharmed, before she saw something that made her catch her breath. Strings tangled and blackened by the soot, her grandfather's puppets lay in a heap at the bottom of the parcel. Carefully she pulled them out, not wanting to damage or tangle them further.

Out of the parcel and in the cold spring light that filtered into her room, she could see the extent of the damage they had faced better. Thick soot marred their features and left its mark on her fingers and bedsheets. Some of the threads were frayed dangerously thin, and the tail of the wooden horse was gone completely, its rump scarred by fire, paint peeled back and cracked.

She made her way up to the attic before she looked at them any more. Jonathan had left the door open, and she didn't want anyone to see her so upset over puppets. They were just a few bits of wood and string, really, not important at all, although that thought didn't stop her from sobbing over them for quite a while. The contents of the rest of the package left her no better.

A charred envelope bore her name in a vaguely familiar scrawl. She couldn't place the handwriting until she read the note contained inside.

_Dearest Daine,_

_It is my strongest wish that this letter finds you well. Although there are other enquiries that I wish to make, my first duty is surely to enlighten you as to the position of your beloved Zek._

_I am sure you were most distressed at leaving him behind. Kaddar and I have both attempted to explain the reasons for your hurried departure to him, and although he seemed downcast for some time, he now seems most at home in the University Menagerie. (It will reassure you, I hope, to know that the people who care for the animals there are experts in their fields, and also that much of my personal time has gone into developing the enclosures there. I know that you were somewhat dissatisfied with the Imperial Menagerie.) _

_Now, as I am sure you understand, I must enquire as to the well-being of yourself and my former apprentice. Although there have been many rumours as to the events surrounding your escape, I am assured that you are both as well as can be expected after such an ordeal. In any case, pass on my best wishes to him, and reassure him that all is as well as may be expected here. He has grown into a better man than I ever could have hoped him to be, and although much time has passed, I hope that he still regards me in the same manner he did when he was younger. We will be able to spend more time together in the near future, I hope._

_Contained is something that we found in the possession of my revered potentate._ (Daine stumbled over the unfamiliar word for a moment, and then resolved to ask Numair later, more concerned with what it was that the envelope contained.) _I will not concern you with the particular methods with which they were acquired here. I am sorry that I am unable to be more explicit, but circumstances demand otherwise. Regardless, be certain that no unwise steps were taken in their recovery and that I have made preparations for all eventualities. However, Kaddar assures me that he saw you wearing them, as I am too unobservant to have noticed. _

_Although I fear that I will see you sooner than we can expect, I know that an unreasonable amount of time will have interrupted our conversation on the various bat species. It is my hope that when we next meet, we will be able to continue it under more agreeable circumstances, without the interruptions of my former students._

_With my sincerest wishes that you are (both) well and safe,_

_Lindhall_

At the bottom of the scorched envelope, something small and blue glinted in the dim light of the attic. Gently tipping the contents onto the palm of her hand, she gasped in shock at the possessions Lindhall had returned to her. The sapphire earbobs that Numair had given her last Midwinter, that she had thought lost after their escape from Carthak, glimmered dully in her hand. The silver was slightly tarnished through months of no use, but the sparkle of the sapphires was nonetheless still present.

Clutching the earbobs in one hand, and the letter in the other, Daine dashed down the stairs, through her room and to the ground floor of the house. She found Numair, Abigail and Kaddar alone in the study. Before she could stop herself, she had thrown her arms around Kaddar's neck and was sobbing into his shoulder. Hesitantly, she felt him return her embrace.

"Daine?" he murmured into her ear. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Magelet?"

At Numair's voice she pulled herself away from the prince slightly. Glancing up, she realised Kaddar looked vaguely uncomfortable, but she couldn't quite bring herself to separate from him just yet. "Jonathan brought me a letter from Lindhall." Numair's face paled and Kaddar stiffened. "He – he must have sent it before Kaddar was arrested. He wanted to know if we were all right, and – and he gave me my earbobs back."

The room was silent for a moment. "May I see?" Numair asked, his voice tight.

"Of course."

She watched silently as he read it, trying to read the emotions that flickered across his face, although many of them were too quick for her to properly understand. She was vaguely aware that Kaddar's arm was still around her, and her hand gripped his tunic tighter. After a few moments, Numair murmured, "May I keep it?"

She nodded, and he gave her the barest of smiles as he folded the letter carefully and placed it in his shirt pocket, before sliding his hand into Abigail's. Daine couldn't help but look away, blushing, more in anger at the flicker of irritation in her stomach than embarrassment at the actual act itself. Her arms fell limply to her sides, her grip on the earbobs bare. It was only then that she felt another pair of eyes on her. Through the window, she glanced Lachann's flash of red hair as he turned away from the building, scowling.

"I'd never thought about the possessions that you left behind," Numair mused, eyeing her hand curiously. "You're lucky that Ozorne hasn't used them as some sort of focus over you before."

Daine swallowed, running her thumb over her lip uneasily. "I hadn't thought about that," she admitted.

"Could focus magic work over such a distance?" Kaddar enquired.

"Potentially," Numair murmured. "Of course, it depends on the magnitude of the caster's Gift, and the strength of his will. Your uncle certainly has the will, and if necessary, he has the ability to control those who have the potential. It is some distance though."

Daine let her teeth pinch the side of her thumb. "Am I at risk then?"

"The shield I already have in place should protect you. I can work later to make it stronger." Numair was staring at her thumb, and Daine dropped her hand automatically, a reprisal of his past reprovals. He blinked and glanced up at her. "I wouldn't worry about it though. That he hasn't done it already may indicate that it hasn't occurred to him either."

"Or that he has, and he'll use it at a critical moment."

Her teacher shifted his gaze to the prince, settling it upon him with a heavy glare. "Also true, Kaddar. Thank you for reminding us."

She rolled her eyes. "Numair, I could have worked it out for myself anyway. Just because Kaddar pointed it out doesn't mean it was any less obvious." Sliding into the seat opposite Numair and Abigail, she leaned forward on the table. "If he did put a magic on me with a focus, could you counter it with yours?"

"Numair has a focus of you?" Abigail interrupted.

Daine grinned, although she noticed Numair was looking slightly less amused with the prospect of the discussion. "He has a lock of my hair. He keeps it close to his heart so that he can always keep an eye on me," she said mockingly.

Abigail raised a curious eyebrow in Numair's direction, as the mage said defensively, "Hardly, Daine. It's to guard against situations where valuable time could be saved instead of running around and trying to find you blind, such as in Carthak, and it's not kept on my person at all; it's in a pouch in my drawers." The look that he shot at her told her in no uncertain terms to be quiet. She scowled in reply, letting him know in her own way that she had no such intention. Instead of the usual resigned sigh, a faint smile touched his lips and he stared at the table, trying to regain his grimace, no doubt.

Daine snorted, deciding to save him the bother of trying. "So would you be able to counter it? Or would I be left open to Ozorne's will?"

"Well," he started, stretching out the word. "There's always a chance that you would be. And whilst I _do_ have the stronger Gift," he allowed Daine a moment to roll her eyes, "I fear that the Emperor's willpower has had little to challenge it in recent years, and he _believes_ it to be the stronger, which may be half the battle. Furthermore, I would be somewhat reluctant to enter into any kind of warfare with him when the battleground is _your_ mind and body."

"So you're just going to leave her open to attack?" Abigail put in.

"Not if I can help it," the mage smirked.


	21. Chapter 20: Diplomacy

**I'm so, so sorry it's taken me so long to update. It was far, far longer than I meant it to be, but for various reasons, it's really not been possible for me to update. ****(Starting with the mind-numbing back problem, quickly followed by the even more mind-numbing (and melting) painkillers.**** And not being able to sit down for more than 20 ****mins**** at a time as a result...) And then yesterday, just as I was giving it my final read through, my laptop kind of, sort of went on fire... Thank God for backups!!! And if I've missed typos etc in this chap, I place the blame fully on the nasty painkillers which zapped my head today, and **_**le **__**Gingernut**_** can corroborate. **

**Because it's been so long, I want to say an extra special thank you to all of my reviewers, especially those of you who've been reading this since the very start. I hope you enjoy this too!**

**As always, I disclaim, apart from ****Abi, ****Lachann**** and the lovely ****Ùisdean**

**Chapter 20**

* * *

Something had been tickling at the back of Daine's mind for near an hour; immortals. Three of them, hovering on the edge of the Royal Forest. She would have been more concerned, but they were familiar presences: Rikash, Barzha and Hebakh. The presence of one of King Jonathan's horses, accompanied by Thayet's favoured pony, and the mounts of the Prime Minister, Raoul of Goldenlake and the second in command of the Riders made her suspect that the proposed treaty with the Stormwings was the reason for the odd gathering. 

Numair merely raised an eyebrow when she told him of the meeting, although she could tell he was intrigued. While she speculated on what they could be talking about, Numair murmured his responses to her. Allegedly, he was searching for methods of preventing Ozorne using her to carry out his will, although Daine could see the ink had dried long ago on the nib of his quill and parchment, and his eyes barely seemed to be reading the text before him, merely scanning over the same page again and again. She was about to ask him what was bothering him when she sensed movement at the Palace.

"Rikash is leaving the others," she observed. She tilted her head to one side, wondering briefly if she could be mistaken, but knowing that she wasn't. "He's coming towards us."

At the same time as Numair sat up with interest, Ùisdean chapped on the door of Numair's room and let himself in. "Tormos has just had communication from the King himself. There's a Stormwing Lord coming. He said it had something to do with treaty negotiations." The captain shook his head, shrugging. "Why his majesty didn't just contact you in the first place, I don't know."

Daine exchanged glances with her teacher, and Numair sighed heavily as he got to his feet. "I have a fair idea. Probably so he wouldn't have to put up with Numair's demands for our release," she told the captain. "Rikash is almost here. He'll need to be able to see us to know where to land."

"These 'treaty negotiations'," Ùisdean began as Numair started to remove the shield over the courtyard, creating a space that would be large enough for Rikash.

"I'll talk to him," she volunteered.

"Daine, this is important," Ùisdean started, but Numair interrupted him.

"She's right. Daine will be able to get more out of him than I or you could. They have a strange sort of friendship, though they seem to spend more time than anything antagonising each other." He smiled infuriatingly at Daine's mild scowl whilst he sealed the spell, and she rolled her eyes in return. "Rikash cares for her in his own way though. He wouldn't hold back information that would harm her." His work done, he turned around to face her again, hesitating before fixing her with a stern look. "Call us if you need us, Daine. I know we have nothing to fear from him, but we'll be here if necessary. I want to have a word with him too, so don't let him go haring off before I've spoken to him."

She issued him with one of the looks that assured him she was more than capable of handling the matter and didn't appreciate him questioning her abilities. She could see the glint in Numair's eye that meant he was concealing a smile.

"Are you sure she has the skills for this?" Ùisdean murmured to the mage as he watched Daine walk into the courtyard, her head upturned towards the sky.

Numair smiled. "This isn't any old diplomatic meeting," he assured the Captain. "This is Daine talking to a Stormwing. Rikash is one of the few she doesn't feel the need to talk to through the medium of her bow. She can handle him fine."

"Rikash?" Daine called as she looked around the courtyard. His invisible shield vanished and the immortal drifted neatly through the shield, alighting on the roof of the stable momentarily then dropping down to the ground, and grinned at her. If she hadn't of suddenly been forcefully reminded of the stench that accompanied him, she almost would have hugged him, she was so relieved to see what was to all intents and purposes, anyway, a friendly face. She stopped short though, smiling widely at him. "What are you doing here?"

"Your monarch allowed me to come here today. It's meant to be a gesture of trust and thanks towards Stone Tree Nation." Rikash said it with such disdain that Daine almost giggled. "Only one of us though. Queen Barzha felt it would be a more cordial meeting if I were the one to be sent." He shook his head with mock sadness. "How little she knows us."

"Indeed," Daine agreed, smiling.

"For example, manners would dictate that I ask how you and your mage are, but fortunately I do not have to lower myself to following them."

"And if you did ask, I'd have to respond that we're both doing much better than the last time that you saw us, but we're sick of being stuck in here and want to get out there and do something to help for once."

"Luckily," Rikash retorted, "I don't need to know any of that." He looked over her shoulder expectantly. "Isn't that annoying mage coming to check that you're safe? You never know," he said, leaning towards her, "I might be corrupting you with my evil Stormwing ways."

Daine bristled to Numair's defence. "I'll have you know, if it wasn't for him, I'd've shot you in Dunlath."

"Oh, well, beg my pardon, I stand corrected," the immortal retorted. "Apparently I owe my life to him. Then again, it could be argued – by me, mostly – that I've helped in saving his life too, and therefore I can irritate both you and him with the desecration of his name any time I want to." Daine sighed with annoyance. "Where is he anyway?"

She glanced back towards the house, shrugging. "He's of a mind with your Queen. He thinks I'll find out more if we're left to it. He does want a word with you though. He says I'm not to go chasing you off."

He laughed scornfully. "It would take more than a little mortal like you to scare me off," he pointed out. "Even if you are a Stormwing-killer. I suppose you want to know about the battle?" Rikash asked tauntingly. "It was a lovely fight. Lots of fear for us to feast on, plenty of bodies for afterwards."

Daine felt her face pale, wrinkling her nose at the Stormwing's habits. "Why did you come?" she asked the immortal curiously, partly in attempt to distract herself from the thoughts.

Rikash grinned, baring silver teeth in a ghastly smile. "I thought you'd be there to protect me."

Daine made a face. "Very funny. Really, why?"

The Stormwing shrugged, metal feathers clinking softly. "You feel as friendly towards Ozorne as we do. We might as well be united in enmity for him. Perhaps between all of us, we can tear him limb from limb. That's what _we_ hope to do, anyway. Cheer up," he told her, smiling unpleasantly at her grim expression. "You've survived the first battle of the war."

Daine scowled, resting her hands on her hips. "I didn't even get to take part," she reminded him pointedly.

"Do you have a blood lust that I didn't know about, sweetheart?"

Her scowl deepened, making the Stormwing cackle. "Not exactly, no."

"I'm sure your Stork-man will be glad to hear it." Daine, about to retort, closed her mouth abruptly. He must have been talking to Cloud. Before she could stop herself, she felt her cheeks blush at the thought of what else her pony could have shared with the immortal. Rikash grinned leeringly, and Daine crossed her arms before her, lifting her head and jutting out her chin defensively.

"Why did you come?" she repeated, ignoring the amused expression he wore.

"Your king isn't the only one to have his spies," Rikash responded after a moment. "We 'overheard' the arrangements being made for the battle by certain rulers, and felt that, in the spirit of alliance and all, perhaps it would be best to share the information with you. Queen Jachull leads those allied with Ozorne," he said when her expression asked more. "There are a few who follow her, and their nations them, but their agreement with Ozorne may be tenuous." He smiled suddenly. "Their agreement amongst themselves may be tenuous too. Stormwings aren't known for their ability to agree with each other. Almost like humans, really. And how long they'll cooperate with Ozorne, we don't know." His smile grew to bare his teeth. "There were several – disagreements – at the conferences to organise that attack, and not all of them were manufactured by us."

"Do you think, perhaps, that there's any way you could treat with some of the other Stormwings and bring them to our side? Or any of the other immortals? We know that we'll have some ogres on our side, and there's a chance that some centaurs will join us too, but if we could –"

Rikash cackled rudely. "Do you think that your king may have already asked us that?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're nothing but rude, has anybody told you that?"

"I'd be a poor Stormwing if I wasn't," Rikash pointed out. His shifted awkwardly, his face becoming slightly more serious. "As I said, we have contacts in certain nations. Some Stormwings may tire of Ozorne's demands, or remember their honour as Stormwings." Daine quickly suppressed the expression of disbelief she felt touch her face. "Just like your king though," Rikash leaned towards her, almost confidentially, his stale odour prickling at her nostrils, "we choose when to share our information, and when to keep it to ourselves." He sat back with a satisfied smirk on his face, clearly enjoying Daine's obvious irritation.

"Oh look," he commented, with an innocence in his tone that made her instantly suspicious. "Here comes _your_ mage now."

"He's not _my_ anything," she hissed back, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that Numair was still too far away to hear Rikash's chosen conversation topic.

"Why so red then? Your Stork-man must have some hidden appeal to mortal women."

"He does not! I am not!" she stuttered urgently, willing the Stormwing to shut up. "He's not _mine_," she repeated again.

"That's not what your pony says."

"What does Cloud say?" Numair's voice enquired behind her.

_That_ _blessed_ _pony!_ she thought angrily as she searched for a reply before Rikash could respond.

Too late. "Just that your care for your student is stronger now than it was when she last saw you both."

Numair's lips pursed tightly, and his paled face, a result of months indoors, coloured slightly.

"She's said no such thing to me," Daine retorted, at the same time as Numair replied.

"Considering that in the time that has transpired since Cloud last saw us both together, I have almost died, we have helped each other escape the imprisonment of a tyrant, and lived in this small house for months on end, I would be surprised if it had not," he said calmly. Daine could hear the taught defensiveness in his voice, although she barely had time to wonder at it before he continued. "My greetings to you, Lord Rikash. I hope you bring us news?"

His sudden change in conversation and his stiff disposition did not go unnoticed. Rikash grinned, apparently pleased with himself. "This and that. Alliances and deals. What will you give me to hear it?"

"Not even a copper bit."

The immortal chuckled, and proceeded to tell him rapidly all that he had shared with her. Finally, Rikash's face took on a grave expression. "You know that they know where you are?"

"What?" Daine gasped, but Numair only nodded.

"I've suspected so, ever since Hadensra at Midwinter. Ozorne has too many spies and sources for him not to, I expect. May I ask if you know how?"

The Stormwing shook his head, a waft of his scent drifting over Daine. "Jachull didn't mention explicitly – I'm not sure she herself knows – but several times she mentioned that Ozorne had a source well placed to watch over the two of you. It's that fact that led many to ally with her – you're infamous amongst immortals for your ability to kill Stormwings, the both of you." He flashed Daine a gruesome smile. "I'd almost be proud, if it weren't my kind you were killing. Listen," he said, his tone becoming serious again. "If they know where you are – if their well placed someone is in a strong enough position – they could act at any time. In here you're trapped like fish in a barrel."

"I have made the King more than aware of my concerns, including exactly that. If you would be so kind as to enlighten him of it as well though, we would much appreciate it. Jonathan feels that we're somewhat safer where we are."

Rikash scoffed, raising his head to check the position of the sun. "I must leave soon," he said, glancing back down at them and ruffling his feathers in a series of clicks. "We ourselves are in hiding, and it is better if I travel with my Queen than alone. Her conference with their royal majesties will be ending soon." Neither of them missed the scathing tone in his voice. "Listen, watch those who surround you carefully. If it is not someone here now, then it is one of the others who knows your location and is here regularly enough to be able to report your actions in here – with detail. Be careful with who you place your trust in, and watch each other closest of all. It may be a new recruit, or one who joined your army not long ago."

Numair gave an exasperated sigh. "Rikash, the Own is on a war footing. There are new recruits in every regiment, and more of the young gentry are queuing through the Palace gates just to sign up and get their chance to be slashed by a hurrok in the name of Tortall. There are new faces here every week now."

"Then it is all the more prudent that you are discerning in those you put your trust in. For all that I may try, I cannot pretend to – dislike – you both." He checked the sky again. "I must go. Mage, isn't there something you should be doing for me?"

Numair snorted without any real venom. "It has been as much of a pleasure as usual, Lord Rikash." With that, he disappeared inside to attend to the shield.

"Heed my warnings, Daine. I would hate to have to explain to Lady Maura that I warned you but you didn't take me seriously when you've killed yourself."

Daine grinned. "And you heed them yourself. You're in much the same position as us, it seems to me. I wouldn't like to explain it to Maura either."

"It's done!" Numair shouted from inside.

She stood back as the Stormwing stretched his wings and beat them rapidly, slowly rising from the ground. "Take care of yourself, Stormwing-killer. We'll see each other again, no doubt, when this war is over and done. And may the best man, woman or immortal reach Ozorne first!"

With that, he lifted off and had gone before Daine had the chance to respond.

* * *

Rikash's words had given Daine much to think about, not least his warnings over their safety in Golden Wood. That was far from her mind, however, when Lachann discovered her giving Cloud a stern mind-speech whilst grooming her inside the stable. 

It was Cloud's sneeze that alerted her first to his presence. Soundlessly, the soldier had crept up on her as she worked and positioned himself in the doorway of the building. He still smells funny, Cloud muttered. Anyone would think he lived under the sun all year long.

Hush, she told her pony. He does. He's from the south, remember.

"An interesting visitor you had earlier," he commented casually, leaning against the doorframe.

He doesn't live there now though, Cloud muttered mutinously.

Daine fixed her with a glare, still annoyed at the pony for her loose mouth, and responded instead to Lachann.

"I can't say we were expecting him," she replied honestly.

"I wasn't aware you were on such close speaking terms with Stormwings."

Daine wrinkled her face. "Only those that are on our side," she corrected. "Besides, Rikash and I – we've known each other a few years. Numair partly owes his life to him."

"Then we must all be grateful," Lachann replied drily. There was something in his tone that Daine didn't like, and she was just about to question him on it when he spoke again. "Have they formed an alliance then? With their majesties?"

"It sounds that way. They've certainly been able to provide us with useful information, and they've helped us in the past too. They fought at the Palace for us."

"So they've brought their support into the open?"

Daine frowned. "Since when were you so interested in Stormwing politics?"

Lachann folded his arms, fixing her with an impatient eye. "I prefer to know who I'm fighting with and against when I go into battle. Who can be trusted."

"Rikash can," she bristled indignantly at his tone. "And if you must know, no, their support isn't openly known yet. Most of the enemy Stormwings were captured or killed at the battle, and many of the Stone Tree Nation died too, fighting on our behalf, if that's evidence enough for you?"

He smiled softly at her. "Sweetling, you're like the Lioness on the defensive. I'm only enquiring – if I hadn't done it first, another of the Own would have done. We've fought too many battles against them just to accept them as allies so easily." Reaching out an arm, he slid it around her waist, pulling her in closely to him. Daine didn't resist, though she held her body stiff. Lachann chuckled, bringing a hand up to stroke her hair. "If you tell me you trust them, then that's good enough for me, and I'll see to it that it's good enough for the rest of the Own too." His head had bent down, his breath stirring the hair around her ear as he spoke. "Stormwings though. Thought you had better taste, Daine. Or at least," he murmured, dropping a kiss on her cheek as she relaxed against him, "a better sense of smell."

* * *

Numair had never been a proponent of eavesdropping, and had in fact lectured his student many times of the virtues of not prying into others' conversations. He had to admit, though, that it was a good way to discover information. 

The particular information that Numair had uncovered was not pleasant for him though. It made his stomach lurch at the very thought, and sense of nausea settle somewhere in his gut. For Daine's benefit, he wouldn't go marching in and pull them apart right there and then. He tried to tell himself it was this that stopped him, and not the fear of gaining the image of whatever Lachann was doing in there with her to haunt his mind later. He couldn't see anything, but on the other hand, he didn't need to either. He knew perfectly well what young men that age were capable of doing and thinking, especially when the female concerned was one they had recently insulted in some manner or other.

He had to physically push himself away from the building, feeling suddenly weak and deflated. The door to the kitchen could not come soon enough, and when he reached it, he stumbled inside, gripping a chair for a moment before forcing himself to stand straight again.

"Are you all right, Numair?" Abigail asked him with concern.

"Fine," he murmured, though he could barely hear her. He cleared his throat and shook his head, attempting to explain his behaviour. "I'm afraid that Daine may have been more accurate than I allowed her to believe when she diagnosed that the after effects of my magic would still be afflicting me. Something that Lord Rikash mentioned earlier has preoccupied me somewhat though."

"And you need to be with your books," she finished for him.

He gave her a grateful smile. "Exactly that," he agreed, although really, it was the last thing on his mind.

It did not take him long to discover that research, though, did very little to help distract him.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Hm?" Abigail drew him out of his reverie, catching his hand with her cold one.

"What have you got on your mind? I know that look, Numair. Your fingers play with your nose, and your lips move, although you barely make a sound. And don't say 'nothing', either. You haven't said a word in the last candle mark. I want the truth from you, Master Salmalín."

Convinced that he wasn't well, Abigail had insisted on keeping him company in his research, and nothing he could say would dissuade her. He had barely read a word though, and the ink had firmly dried on the quill in his hand. He sighed softly, using his belt knife to whet it.

"Numair, I want an answer."

There was no way he could avoid replying any longer. Iron control in his voice, he said calmly, "Before the King and George came, what did you mean when you asked me if Daine had spoken to me about Lachann yet?"

She shrugged, her face clearing of expression.

"Abigail?" he prompted, not sure he wanted to know the answer anyway.

Slowly, she said, "Daine and he are sweet on each other. Nothing more," she affirmed.

"You knew about this?" he exclaimed. "When did you find out?"

The woman watched him carefully. "Roughly the same time as I saw them kissing in her doorway."

"Ki - when?"

"Midwinter, though I hardly see how it matters, Numair."

_Midwinter_. Of all the days - the irony was not lost on Numair, to say the least.

He struggled to compose himself before he spoke again. "Why didn't she tell me?" he said, attempting to keep the mixture of disappointment, dismay and – somewhat irrationally – betrayal, from showing in his voice.

"For some reason, she thought that you might over-react."

Numair made an attempt at scoffing at Daine's irrationality, before the disbelieving expression on Abigail's face made him fall silent.

* * *

He knew it was stupid, but Numair didn't want Daine anywhere near her apparent suitor. Until he could speak with Lachann, he could think of one way which was guaranteed to keep the young soldier apart from his student. She wasn't paying nearly as much attention to his lesson as he would have liked though. 

Finally he sighed, eyeing her suspiciously. "What are you thinking magelet?"

She fidgeted. "All this talk of Stormwings has made me remember something. Queen Barzha - she said something to me when we were in Carthak."

The mage shifted in his chair so he faced her, giving her his full attention. "Go on," he prompted, eyebrow raised.

"A suggestion for a lesson. She asked if I could talk to her as we flew. When I said I couldn't, she told me to tell you to teach me, and that it was fair important."

Numair thought for a moment. Here, finally, was a challenge for them to try. A welcome distraction. "She may have a point," he conceded eventually, trying to keep the eagerness from his voice. "Well, there could be several methods we could use to achieve this." He ran a long finger down the hard bone of his nose, letting it hover on the tip for just a second before his hand dropped into his lap. "We could design a spell so that you could communicate with humans without the assistance of Tkaa or through sign language, and find some way to attach it to your claw. Perhaps a charm to wear on the same chain so that it remains when you change. Or," he added, already stretching across the table for a fresh sheet of parchment, "we could attempt partial shape-shifting."

He whetted the tip of his quill with his small knife, before dipping it in the inkwell. "Instead of taking on the shape of the entire animal, you could select which aspects to take on." He began to scrawl notes to himself on the paper. He'd been insistent since they had discovered her shapeshifting skill that she learn how to change single aspects of her human body, focusing on improving her sight and hearing. _That_ lesson had climaxed when Daine had, rather rashly, sprouted a tail just to see if it could be done. Apparently it could. "You can already use your magic to change small parts of your body. Your eyes to a hawk's or a cat's, or, for your more _unsavoury_ habits," he grinned, "your ears to bat's."

Defensively, she interrupted, "It's a useful trick."

"I don't doubt it magelet. There's a reason why George wants to enlist you. And I know of a certain high-officed knight who is very jealous of your aptitude for eavesdropping. Anyway," he carried on, "say you took on entirely animal form, but comprised of different species. A predator. If _you_ were to create the most powerful hunter, which aspects would you take?"

Daine's face twisted. "Animals aren't made that way."

"You can make _yourself_ that way, Daine. Now, say, a wolf's sense of smell. A hawk's vision?"

She sat forward, more eager to participate. "A hyena's jaw, for strength." Numair smiled to himself. His student seemed to have taken a strong liking to the animals since her introduction to them in Carthak.

"For hearing?" he prompted.

"A bat's," she replied without hesitation. "And for speed, a cheetah."

"Good," Numair told her. "Now imagine you want to make yourself into that. How would you do it?"

"I could change a single aspect at a time, and then secure that change, and work on the next."

Numair nodded. "You could start with one base animal form. For this one," he glanced at his notes, "a cheetah, for its body."

"So I become a cheetah, and then change certain parts of me?"

"Exactly."

"But how will that help me communicate with others?"

Numair grimaced. "I suppose it's learning to work the skill in reverse, like changing back, but only parts of you. Your mouth, your vocal chords. That's all you'd need." He sighed. "We'll work on that when you've mastered this though."

An hour later, they could be found shifting through pages of animal anatomy and trying to decide the best way to merge different forms.

"Would George really want me as a spy?"

Her voice jolted him out of his thoughts. He looked up at her, his face startled. "He's been after training you for years now."

Daine looked doubtful. "He's never mentioned it."

"That's because I never let him."

"Why?"

Numair breathed in, considering his words. "Learning codes is one thing, but actual spying is different." He shivered, thinking of his own dalliances with the job, remembering with sudden ferocity his time in Lord Sinthya's dungeons. The only good thing that had come out of his spying, he decided, was that he'd met Daine, who he'd have met through Onua eventually anyway, had he not accepted that particular mission. "It's no life for you, Daine. You wouldn't like it."

She looked slightly offended. "How? How can you be so sure?"

"Because, by necessity, a spy spends much of his – or her – time hidden or staying in one place for so long that they are as trusted as the next. You aren't suited to that." He gestured at her, thinking of the wings she could unfurl at the slightest notice. "Your very nature, your very magic, doesn't conform to that. You suit freedom. A spy lives their life in concealment, hidden or trapped. And if you're caught - caged."

She shuddered. "But why wouldn't you let him ask me?"

Numair paused. He knew now, very well, why he would never let George recruit her, but she couldn't hear that answer. "Because," he finally settled on, "training your magic is your priority, and as your teacher, it is my duty to ensure that you aren't distracted from it. Anyway," he added, stretching his arms in front of him, "your education would suffer considerably if you were held captive."

She stared down at the book before her as she mumbled, "It's little better here than in any cage, I'd fancy."

The silent concern he harboured must have been mirrored in his eyes, and he could feel his brow knot together. She glanced up at him. "At least I'm not captive alone," she said finally.

"No," he echoed faintly. "At least you're not alone."

* * *

Abigail muttered a soft prayer to the Goddess in hope that the girl would understand, before tapping on the Prince's door. The female voice inside stopped at the interruption, and Kaddar appeared in the doorway. 

She smiled hesitantly. "Sorry to interrupt, Your Highness, but I need a word with Daine in private."

Kaddar gestured to her with an arm as she got to her feet. "I'm no Prince here, Abigail. Feel free."

She nodded at him gratefully as she stepped aside to let Daine past. Great mages were one thing, but living with royalty under the same roof was slightly daunting. "I think your room would be best."

Daine looked perplexed but agreed anyway. "What is it?" she asked when they were safely inside her chamber.

"Numair knows about you and Lachann."

She dropped onto her bed without speaking. After a moment, she sighed. "How?"

Now it was Abigail's turn to hesitate. "He asked me. I thought he knew already when I mentioned it to him. I thought you'd have spoken to him about it by now." She sighed. "I'm really sorry, Daine. Truly, it was an accident."

Daine was silent for a moment, and Abigail knew she was assessing her. Finally she nodded. "It's not your fault. He can be quite determined when he wants to know something. I suppose he had to find out sometime." She shook her head, a slight smile touching her lips. "I thought he was acting strangely earlier. Did he have a fit?"

Now it was Abigail's turn to smile. "Almost," she admitted. "'Kissing?'" she mimicked, her voice deepening. "'When?'"

Daine groaned. "And I'd so hoped he wouldn't try and scare poor Lachann off. He did it with Kaddar once before," she explained. "In the presence of the Carthaki court and entire Tortallan peace delegation, too. It was mortifying." A faint colour came to the girl's cheeks. "He told Kaddar he was leading me on, and then _threatened_ him with the displeasure of their Majesties, Alanna, and himself if they thought he had done anything amiss."

Abigail laughed despite herself. "I can try my best to see that he doesn't do it again."

Daine smiled genuinely at her. "I'd be grateful."

"It's the least I can do, seeing as I'm the one who told him. Perhaps we'd be best to face him together. There's not many a man brave enough to battle with an alliance of women."

Daine grinned wickedly at her, and Abigail returned the smile, feeling like she'd finally won this young woman around. "I daresay you're right."

* * *

Numair Salmalín had proved on many occasions that he was no fool. He felt that this was particularly pertinent, however, where young men were concerned, seeing as he himself had been one not so many years before. 

"I'm glad I've caught you on your own, for once."

For a moment, the figure froze, pausing in the act of tying his boot laces. Lachann stood up slowly, meeting Numair's gaze squarely, only a few inches below him. "Oh yes? How may I help you?"

"I wanted to have a chat with you. Nothing of momentous significance to most," he said, gesturing for the soldier to take his seat again, "although it is important to me."

Understanding showed itself in the flare of his green eyes. "I'm at your service," Lachann said, although Numair could hear the steely undertone in his voice.

Undaunted by this, the mage slipped his hands into his breeches pockets. "You'll understand, of course, that Daine and I have grown close over the years that I have been her teacher, and that I take very great interest in her wellbeing."

"You seem to argue with her a lot for someone who says they have such a great care."

Numair shrugged, forcing himself to keep his tone light. "Friends quarrel. The Lioness and I bicker almost constantly, although she's one of my dearest friends. Daine's too," he added smoothly.

Lachann cocked an eyebrow, clearly not missing Numair's intended meaning, but didn't say anything.

"I've noticed recently that you've been spending more time with her."

"As has Prince Kaddar," Lachann pointed out.

"True, but Prince Kaddar hasn't been kissing her in doorways and leading her on," Numair retorted, abandoning all pretence of friendliness.

Lachann jumped to his feet again, his hands settling automatically on his belt, not far from his weapons' hilts. "I wouldn't lead Daine _anywhere_ unintentionally, and if she doesn't return my affections, then she just has to say." Spitefully, he added, "She didn't seem like she wasn't enjoyin' my attentions yesterday though. Or earlier today."

Numair flinched, trying to disguise the movement by crossing his arms, although he noticed the barest of smirks crossing the younger man's face.

"Be careful with her," he warned, his voice harsh. "You don't want to underestimate the consequences of hurting her."

The soldier's hand closed around his dagger hilt. "I don' take kindly to threats, Master Salmalín, veiled or no."

"That's all well and good, but I don't appreciate men taking advantage of my student."

The younger man shifted his stance, setting his jaw determinedly. "Master Salmalín, it's against the law to put a spell on an unwilling subject."

"Who said anything about magic?" Numair asked mildly. "I'm talking about your family's position at Court. You wouldn't want to endanger that, would you?"

The man sneered, about to speak, but Numair interrupted. "You forget who her friends are, who she works for. Lady Alanna. Her husband, and her father, Sir Myles of Olau. The King and Queen. The Riders. In fact, hearing what Lord Raoul said to you when you upset Daine last time, I wouldn't fancy your chances crossing him either. So many powerful people in the Realm, and I'm not even including the mages." He glared at the young man, narrowing his eyes to ensure his message was received. "None of them would take it lightly if they felt that a man – _any_ man – was doing wrong by her. Nor would I. Do you understand me?"

The soldier crossed his arms defiantly. "Perfectly," he gritted out.

Numair let his magic glow around him, and smiled when the man paled slightly. "Good." He turned on his heel and stalked out.

Gods, Daine was going to _kill_ him.

* * *

Daine wasn't sure if she'd forgotten how rash Numair could be, but when she'd told Abigail that she'd hoped to spare Lachann Numair trying to scare him off, she hadn't realised that at exactly the same time, Numair would be doing just that. 

"What do you think you've been doing?" Daine demanded. She recognised the look of determination on Numair's face, and before he could attempt to palm her off with some answer, added, "I know you've spoken to Lachann."

Any trace of feigned innocence vanished from his face, and the determination only increased. "I only did it with you in mind."

That was obviously as much of an apology as Daine was destined to get. "Like you did Kaddar, when he had done nothing wrong?"

Numair's voice dropped to a hushed, angry whisper. "I was concerned that he was leading you on when there was no future in it for you."

Daine rolled her eyes. "I'll thank you to let me worry about that for myself," she retorted. "Not that there's been much future in any of your romantic relations in the past."

The mage looked awkwardly towards Abigail, and for a second, Daine felt regret that she'd dragged this up in front of her. "That is entirely different."

Her eyebrows raised. "Is it?"

"Yes, Daine, because I am mature enough to know what I'm becoming involved with!"

She crossed her arms. "So you're concerned that I'm not mature enough to realise what Lachann is doing? Or that there's no future for us?" She didn't intend there to be any 'future' anyway – she knew plenty Rider women, and court ladies too, who had many swains and no intentions of marrying any of them.

"The Own can't marry," he pointed out.

She gasped in exasperation. "I'm only sixteen! I don't _want_ to marry anyone!"

"And that is precisely what I told him."

Daine raised an eyebrow sceptically. "If that was all you said, then I'm a Stormwing."

"I merely warned him that if he manipulated you in any way, there would be serious consequences."

Daine groaned, covering her face with her hands and shaking her head.

Abigail came to stand behind her, resting a hand on the girl's shoulder. "That was uncalled for. I told you earlier not to overreact, and here you go, putting your nose in where it shouldn't be."

The mage's mouth hung open for a moment before he recovered. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting Abigail to take Daine's side on the matter. "It _is_ my business. She's my student! If I think that she'll be distracted by him, or hurt – well, surely I should do my best to help prevent that."

"Numair, she's old enough to make her own mistakes and learn her own lessons."

"As she kindly reminded us, she's _sixteen!_" Numair exploded. "She's still a girl!"

"And I can speak for myself," Daine reminded them sharply. Numair's burning glare transferred from Abigail to her instantly, although Daine stood firmly under it. She'd seen him in a temper too many times to be intimidated by it anymore. "Abigail's right, Numair, I'm old enough and smart enough to make my own decisions. You've said I'm mature enough before – what's different about this?" she demanded

"Everything!" Numair snapped. He swallowed heavily, clearly trying to bring his anger under control. "He's – Daine, you don't understand. Men like him – they want something more."

Daine rolled her eyes. "Sex, you mean."

The mage's cheeks flushed slightly. "To be frank, yes. I've seen him with you, flattering you and trying to charm you into liking him."

"Like you do, you mean."

Numair's cheeks turned a brilliant red. "I don't – not with –"

"I've seen you with court women. And you do it with Abigail too."

"I have never attempted to take advantage of any woman by being polite to them, Daine," he said sternly, his stammering of seconds ago gone completely. "And that's exactly what he's trying to do!"

"How can you be so sure?" Abigail asked shrewdly. "He's always seemed charming and polite to me. I haven't heard a bad word said about him either, and I'd have found out by now from my friends in the Palace if he was like that with the court ladies."

"Numair, I'm not my mother. I'm not about to bed the first man that smiles at me just because I'm sixteen."

"I never said –"

"And I'm smart enough to know when I'm being seduced too. I'm not about to let anyone take advantage of me. What about Kaddar? Do you think that by my being friends with him now, he's planning to do the same?"

"For all I know magelet, he may well be."

She laughed disbelievingly. "Numair, you can't seriously mean that. Or are you going to go and remind him too about 'consequences'?"

"Daine, all I'm saying is that you need to be careful around him. He will be very aware of the games that go on, _and_ how to play them." He paused as she looked at him in disbelief. "And Lachann is already playing them, and you can't see."

"Numair, any 'games' that he's been playing are ones that I've taken part in willingly, and even initiated! He's not seducing me, and I'm not falling in to some trap that you're apparently convinced he's set!"

"If I'm not very much mistaken, you're halfway in love with him already. You certainly act like a lovesick girl, whether he's here or not!" he finished, his breath coming in short, angry pants.

"And who do you suppose I'm lovesick for, then?" she snapped. "Because believe me, Numair, it's not who you're expecting!" Suddenly she froze, realising the truth of the words she'd held back, feeling her face pale.

"What's that meant to mean?" he snapped, but Daine clamped her mouth shut, refusing to say any more. Her silence only seemed to rile him more. "It's not Lachann, then? Kaddar, maybe?"

"Don't be so ridiculous," she hissed. All of a sudden, she was desperate to get out of the room and away from him.

"Daine – magelet," he attempted, his voice becoming softer. "This isn't about you being able to take care of yourself. I know you can. It's different to leaving you with a group of male trainees who think they can ride rings round you just because you're a pretty girl, or flirting with you to try and escape grooming their mounts properly. There are all sorts of ways a man can fool a woman into loving him, or thinking that he loves her, all sorts, and you're too young to know them when you see them. You might've seen some of the games that go on at court, and think they're easy to spot, but it'll be harder once it's _you_ being charmed and given gifts and sweet-talked."

"You forget, Numair," Daine returned slowly, coldly. "Not every man is like you."

She didn't stay in the room long enough to see the hurt bloom in his eyes. "Daine," Abigail called behind her. "Daine, wait! Now see what you've done," she hissed to Numair angrily. "I told you not to go telling her what she can and can't do – don't you see she has enough of that already, being confined here?" They both flinched as they heard the crash of the kitchen door swinging shut behind Daine.

Numair's face had turned deathly pale. "I – I had no idea she thought of me like that," he managed in a whisper. Abigail could hear the tightness in his voice, the upset he was feeling. He staggered slowly backwards, falling into a seat heavily. He looked almost lost, bereft of something. It seemed too much, for a master who had had an argument with his student, even as close as Numair and Daine were, but she had seen over the past few months how Numair's emotions seemed to swing from one to another rapidly, and could often seem overstated.

She tutted impatiently, shaking her head. "She doesn't, you fool man. She's angry and upset – she thinks you think of her as a child. She thinks you feel she's not capable of looking after herself."

He sounded bewildered. "I don't."

"You just said as much." Abigail sighed after a long moment, taking pity on him. "You're right, partly. She probably doesn't know when a man's attempting to seduce her, or playing all the games that men and women play with each other. On the other hand," she said quickly, "she needs to learn them for herself, and Daine is more than able to get herself out of any situation she doesn't want to be in. I've heard from George and Alanna what she can do. I don't doubt that her hand-to-hand is as good as George says it is. And nor should you," she added.

"I've seen her in a fight," Numair murmured, nodding. "She – Gods, Abigail, what do I do?"

Abigail realised then what it was she was facing. She could see it in his eyes and in the desperate pleading in his voice, and now that she recognised it, remembered seeing it there countless times before. She wondered, for a moment, if he had even recognised it in himself yet, and if he had, whether he was trying to deny it, or force it to go away. Didn't he realise it didn't work like that?

"Fool," she murmured, more to herself this time than to him. Why were men always so contrary?

"Leave her until she's – until you've _both_ calmed down. Apologise," she said eventually. "And then you wait."


	22. Chapter 21: Self Deception

**I know, I know, I took forever again. If I have any readers left out there, I do apologise. Life gets in the way sometimes, y'know? Anyway, here it is, and as per usual, it was longer than I wanted it to be too! Thank you to all of you who are reading and reviewing, I do really appreciate it! I'll be quicker next time, honest! **

**I disclaim ownership of any of the characters, apart from Abigail, Lachann, Tormos, Graham and Ùisdean of the Wicked Name. The world and the characters are Tamora Pierce's. And I've just realised that Tormos, Graham and Ùisdean don't appear again till the next chap, but never mind!**

**Chapter 21**

* * *

Air slipped under outstretched wings, feathers rippling gently. The bird allowed herself to meander, the wind carrying her as she searched for a current that would lift her higher; above the city, above the forest, swooping down and rising again quickly, towards mountains, towards the sea. She felt like she could drift forever, and she allowed a delighted cry to escape her as she soared upwards. Within the blink of an eye, the scene had shifted; _she_ had shifted. She was running with the herd, back in the Palace fields with the Rider ponies. With exhilaration, they galloped across the fields, ground disappearing beneath their hooves as they went, clearing fences, hedges and fallen trees. A final leap and she plunged into water, racing through the sea with a pod of dolphins. The mammals played around her, almost springing from the sea in delight at their new friend. Attempting to imitate one of their jumps, she vaulted into the air, before tumbling to back to the water abruptly, striking it painfully.

Daine woke with a jolt, her breathing heavy. The euphoria of her dream stayed with her for a moment before she remembered where she was, and panic washed over her. After a few minutes, the alarm receded when the normal feeling of confinement settled as a constriction in her chest and a tightened throat.

It was worse, she had to admit, since she had argued with Numair. They had barely spoken since. If she was honest, she had made a conscious effort to avoid him. It wasn't that she was furious with him for his behaviour towards Lachann and his words about Kaddar – although she still was, partly – but it was the sudden realisation of the depth of her feelings for him that had made her want to stay away from him. Now apprehension and uncertainty dogged her as well as feelings of imprisonment.

It took a moment for her breathing to settle and some of the tautness to dissipate. Goddess, what she wouldn't give to be free of this place! The house may well have been a prison cell, as far as she was concerned, and a minute one at that. Daine didn't think she could live for much longer in this tiny little house. For a girl who was used to sleeping on the ground floor of buildings to be closer to the People and practically lived outdoors, it was nowhere near enough space. That wasn't even considering that the only animals she could actually meet in person were some small birds and a few of the Own's geldings and mares.

Squinting to see in the darkness, she reached for the flint on her bedside table and closed her eyes against the flaring light of the lit candle. Scrambling out of bed, she washed and dressed quickly in the chilly morning air, and pushed one of her shutters open. Dawn was barely touching the roofs of Corus, and a few morning birds warbled feebly. She would regret being up this early later on. Sighing miserably, she lifted her bow and quiver and made her way down the stairs.

The house was almost silent as she crept through it, although it had been unusually quiet since she and Numair had argued two days ago. Even Abigail had seemed more subdued than normal. Strangely, Lachann seemed to be following Numair's wishes and was staying away from her, although that may have had more to do with the glare she had sent his way the afternoon of the quarrel. She really should have been apologising to him for Numair's behaviour instead of sending angry looks at him but it was too late to be worrying about that now. _Or too early_, she thought to herself dryly.

Daine paused outside Numair's door. She had heard him murmuring earlier on in the night; the beginnings of a nightmare, she had thought. The girl had been about to head downstairs and carry out her usual, almost-nightly, duty of sneaking in to his room to soothe him when she had heard Abigail knock at his door and rouse him. Daine had stayed awake as long as she could, straining canine ears in attempt to hear what was going on, but had fallen asleep before she had heard the maid leave.

Daine shook her head rapidly, trying to clear them of thoughts of what Numair and Abigail could have done. She was no fool, and she knew his reputation well, but it was troubling her even more so now than the thought of his spending the night with Varice in Carthak. She could hear gentle snoring from inside the room, punctuated by soft murmurs. _Oh Gods_. The girl hurried outside.

Once she had cleared the stables of its occupants, including a particularly grumpy Cloud, she was ready to begin. She started by running through the hand-to-hand and knife-fighting drills that she had been taught. If they went to war soon, she wanted to be ready. Then came the archery. She let fly volleys of arrows, not pausing for her usual meditative stance and breathing, although she knew it was the only effective way of puncturing the balloon of tension in her throat and dispersing it a little. At some point the noise of the Own beginning their drills broke through her concentration, and she was vaguely aware of Ùisdean calling a break eventually, but she carried on regardless.

"There you are."

"There's not many other places here that I could be, Kaddar," she pointed out without turning to look at him.

"Very droll," he returned. "Nevertheless, we've been looking for you. Did you not hear Abigail call you for breakfast?"

Daine lowered her bow and looked around. "Is it that time already?"

"It was that time an hour ago. Abigail and I thought we'd leave you to it. I'd say go and eat now, but Master Numair is eating, and I know how fond you are of each other just now. For rather inconsequential reasons too, from what I heard."

"I'd remind you that I'm the one with the bow in my hand before you go criticising me." She turned back round to face the target, pretending to concentrate intently on knocking her arrow whilst sounding nonchalant. "How much of it did you actually hear, anyway?"

She could hear the smile in his voice. "Daine, I'd be surprised if my uncle in Carthak didn't hear what you two were saying. If he had, by the way, he would be delighted that he's hurting the two of you more. Don't let him gain from this."

"I won't," she promised vaguely, loosing her arrow.

As it landed with a satisfying thud in the worn centre of the target, Kaddar murmured, "You're irritatingly good, you know that?"

"What can I say?" she retorted, knocking another arrow. "Gift of the Gods. Quite literally, apparently."

He chuckled as she fired of the remainder of the round in quick succession. "It's blessed freezing out here."

Daine made a noncommittal noise. "It's not that bad," she said finally.

"Your hands are blue."

Sliding her bow over her shoulder, she flexed them. "They're not too bad," she conceded finally. "I'll go in soon."

Kaddar snorted disbelievingly at that. "Do you not wish your range was bigger?"

"'Course I do. At least I'm getting lots of practice working at close range though."

"Forever the optimist, aren't you?"

"It's not a matter of choice. I'd just be miserable if I wasn't." Kaddar fell silent as she collected her arrows, watching her movements shrewdly. Finally, feeling uncomfortable under his stare, she asked, "What?"

"How long are you intending not to talk to Numair?"

She shrugged. "It's not that I'm not talking to him. It's just that I'm avoiding the opportunity to."

He snorted. "I've never known you to pass the chance to spend time with him," he observed.

Daine spun on her heels to face him. "What's that meant to mean?"

"Only that I know how much you enjoy your lessons. I can see why too. Numair's a good teacher. I wouldn't have thought you'd forgo lessons just because you've fallen out with him."

"If you think he's such a good teacher, then why are you complaining? You're getting more time with him on your own."

The prince shrugged. "It can be a lot of information to absorb in one go. And it's even harder when he has you researching all day long too."

"It's all right for you. He's not in a bad mood with you. You should see the work he assigns when he is."

Kaddar chuckled. "Daine, are you forgetting who we're talking about? He's in a foul mood. This is _Master Numair_. The man who warned me off being anywhere near you, remember? Whether you're at odds just now or not, it seems to me he has designs to keep us apart."

Feeling uncomfortable, she retorted, "Nonsense."

"You were the one who pointed out that he's spending extra time tutoring me," he reminded her. "It seems to me that those lectures coincide with the time that you're not practicing in the stables. In fact, yesterday, the moment you walked through the kitchen door, he dragged me into the study, remember?"

"That's just him being irritated with me," Daine tried to dismiss it offhandedly, leaning on her bow. "At least he's not yelling."

Kaddar snorted loudly. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm just happy it's Lachann he wants to skin and not me."

Catching the look in his eye, Daine felt something strange flitting in her stomach.

"Kaddar – Numair – he said something," she began, faltering. She wasn't entirely sure why she was saying this, or what she wanted to find out from it. "He said you were – well," she blushed furiously, now intensely regretting her line of questioning.

Kaddar looked at her curiously. "What did he say about me?"

She looked at her feet, then over his shoulder, anywhere rather than him. "He said that you liked me."

Kaddar nodded. "Well, of course I like you Daine. Why wouldn't I? You've been a good friend to me."

She was momentarily shocked. "No," she squirmed. "Not – like me, _like_ me," placing emphasis on the word in the hope he would understand her meaning without having to describe it any further.

"Oh," Kaddar managed after a moment's silence. He cleared his throat. "Well, it's perfectly understandable why he thought so. I mean, I can understand his reasoning."

"So you don't like me?" She was confused.

"Well, no. I mean –" He sighed. "What I mean Daine is that – you're a perfectly attractive girl, you're intelligent, you're a wonderful friend, and, well, you're very comely –" If it hadn't been so serious a situation, Daine would have laughed. Not only was Kaddar squirming as much as she had been, but she also didn't think she'd ever been described as 'comely'. "– and… What I'm trying to say, Daine, is that you are a very _nice _girl, and I could, I mean I do, _like_ you, but – if I ever get out of this Gods-forsaken hole and back to my own country, then I'm destined to be Emperor, and I don't think my ministers would appreciate an untitled girl from the North for my Empress, _especially_ one that they want to arrest for destroying the Palace and making an attempt on the Emperor's life. It couldn't – I don't mean that I wouldn't want it to, but we couldn't really –"

She cut him off before he said anything more. "So he was right?"

"I'm not planning to seduce you, if that's what you mean. I thought you thought more of me than that, Daine." She couldn't help but wince at the disappointment in his voice.

"I do! I know you've more honour than to do that, Kaddar, you've told me so yourself. Numair's just very protective of me, in a way. His own way."

"Well, that's certainly true," he murmured stiffly. He sat down on a pile of hay and gestured at her to go on with her shooting.

With difficulty, she managed to focus on the target. She had just drawn her new arrow when the prince spoke again.

"Numair seems to spend an awful lot of time with Abigail. It's funny, before I came here Baron Cooper told me that you were treating Numair's leg for him, but it seems he must've been mistaken."

Daine's fragile concentration vanished. Gradually she relaxed her arm, the bowstring returning to its natural position. "Yes."

There was something about Kaddar's tone that she didn't like. It was curious and probing. "Now why would he have had that impression?"

She drew the bowstring again with more force than was necessary, and the arrow fell to the floor. Cursing silently to herself, she bent to pick it up. "Not long before you came, Numair asked that I show Abigail how to look after him."

"Why?"

Daine knocked her arrow and let fly. The bolt landed just off-centre in the target, and she sighed. Doing her best to sound normal as she drew another, she murmured, "I suppose he wanted to spend more time with her."

Something in her voice or demeanour must have betrayed her. "You're jealous, aren't you?"

"Don't talk nonsense," she scoffed.

"You are." Kaddar sounded more confident now. "You're jealous of him and Abigail, and you're even jealous of the lessons I'm having from him, aren't you? You can take them if you want. He's about ready to bite my head off, I think. You've given me a reason why now too."

Daine was speechless. She couldn't even begin to consider some response. "I don't –" she murmured.

Kaddar smirked. "Daine Sarrasri," he said, shaking his head gleefully, before adopting a more sensitive manner. "You've spent so much time with him, especially recently, that I suppose it's almost to be expected. You could say the same for the way he's been behaving too."

"It's not like there haven't been women in his life before," she muttered. "What makes you so sure I'm jealous of this one?"

The prince grinned again. "I saw you in Carthak with Varice. You looked like you could quite happily have pushed her into the hyena pit."

"I would not! I _like_ hyenas," she retorted emphatically.

That only made him smirk more. "Who would've thought it, eh?"

"You, apparently."

He roared with laughter at this.

"I am not," she said weakly over his chuckling.

"If I'm not interrupting," Numair's voice said coolly from the doorway. "It's time you began your work for the day, Kaddar."

The prince stood, brushing hay off his trousers. "Are too," he winked at Daine as he sauntered out the door, leaving Numair and her alone.

The mage looked at her. "I hope you've been practicing your shapeshifting," he said after a moment's silence.

Daine nodded, looking down at the ground.

"Well," he said quietly, and turned to leave.

"You don't have to worry about Kaddar. He's not about to seduce me. He even told me so. Something about Carthaki ministers not being agreeable."

"Daine," he said softly.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, before Numair shook his head and left.

Somewhere in Daine's stomach, another knot of loneliness and panic rose up and settled in her throat. She dropped her bow, which had almost been holding her up, and sank into a tailor's seat on the dusty stable floor.

"I am not," she said again, although she didn't know who she was lying to this time.

* * *

The mage dropped his quill and sighed in frustration, rubbing his face with his hands.

From somewhere beyond them came, "She misses you, you know."

Numair lifted his head to look at the prince, resting his chin on his clasped hands. Kaddar was sitting across the table from him, next to a pile of books. The young man continued, seemingly undaunted by his glare. "She was telling me so this morning when we were in the stables."

"Oh, really," he responded vaguely, an eyebrow raised.

"Not in so many words, of course." Numair could see why the prince would make such a good emperor. He wasn't bothered in the slightest that he was questioning the personal life of one of the most powerful mages in the world. "She's so stubborn, she won't admit that she's lonely or when she needs help, but the sentiment is most definitely there."

"I'll bear that in mind, thank you," the mage replied dryly. "Have you found anything interesting in there?" he continued smoothly, gesturing at the prince's tome.

Kaddar shrugged, apparently disinterested in the task. "I've written down everything I can find in this. Daine really was quite upset earlier. She's just not been herself for the past few days."

"Kaddar –"

"I think she feels somewhat neglected."

"Prince Kaddar," Numair interrupted more forcefully. "I'll thank you to allow me to deal with the matter with Daine when I am ready to."

Kaddar's head dropped back down to studying, but not before he caught sight of the satisfied smirk on his face.

The mage scowled. Kaddar might find it amusing that Daine was barely speaking to him, but he found it far from that. Abigail was right, as loath as he was to admit it. He had brought it on himself. He had behaved irrationally, with unsound logic and Daine's taunts spurring him on. Of course, he wouldn't admit that to anyone, especially Daine or Abigail, who seemed almost equally annoyed at him. At least she could bear to be in the same room as him though. In fact, the only person who didn't seem affected by the situation was the prince, yet his conversation with Daine this morning proved that he was fully aware of it.

Numair waited no more than a quarter of a candle mark before dismissing the Prince. He was in no mood to continue teaching him, especially after _that_ discussion. The moment Kaddar had gone, his hands resumed their position covering his face and he let him mind run away with him.

How could Daine be feeling neglected? Surely she could see – Numair stopped himself just in time. She didn't know the true circumstances of his outburst and he wouldn't explain them to her. If she felt neglected then it was partly because she could barely stand to even look at him.

Numair knew that wasn't the case though. It was because he had done everything he could since Midwinter – since before then, in fact – to distance himself from her, to allow himself to watch her without being inappropriately close. It was better not to let her get even a hint of his feelings for her. Furthermore, there was a war coming. He was no fool. If anything happened to either of them – well, she would be devastated enough if he was injured, or worse, killed, without knowing the truth. And if she – it didn't even bear thinking about. Numair doubted that he'd be able to withstand that kind of grief.

It was better then, to do as he should have done in the first place, and leave her to it. To let Daine move on like that would be truly heart-rending, but if he was to follow his own logic and reasoning, then he would have no other choice.

He couldn't chase away each of her suitors, scare every one away. Eventually he'd have to let her choose one, let her be happy. Even if it broke his heart. Even if it left him alone.

And maybe, eventually it would benefit him too. It would save him from the fear of rejection, and the pain of true heartbreak that he knew he would suffer when he heard Daine tell him from her own lips that she did not want him. And if he had mistaken his feelings for something more than they actually were, it would help them both. Maybe this was just passing infatuation, like a squire with a Lady he could not hope to have. After all, this couldn't be love, could it? Couldn't be love if it was unreturned and unacknowledged. Unrequited. It couldn't be true love in that form.

Numair shook his head.

He was a fool, simply a fool. He admitted to himself long ago what this was. There was no point trying to pretend to himself now about it.

After supper, where Daine had successfully avoided speaking to him by spending the whole meal engrossed in conversation with Graham and Ùisdean discussing training drills, Numair retreated to his room once again. He had hoped to study, but the sound of his student's voice and occasional laughter was enough to distract him. _Pathetic_. How was it that she could distract him without even being in the room? More to the point, how had he ever managed to work before her, when he had gone from woman to woman without there being the slightest detrimental effect upon his studies? And how did she manage to reduce him to this when she was ignoring him, of all times?

Deciding instead that having too many questions that weren't related to his work was only counterproductive, he gave up with a heavy sigh. He would meditate before he slept, he thought as he pulled his tunic and shirt over his head. It could only do him good, he decided, to work on focusing his Gift; even just giving himself the time to clear his mind of thoughts and sit in silence would be beneficial, and with any luck might allow him some perspective upon his thoughts.

Stepping behind his changing screen to find his nightshirt, he caught sight of himself in the long looking glass. For a moment, he was still; generally he had avoided actually examining himself, and his image had taken him by surprise. Numair surveyed his body in the mirror, before bending down to untie his bandaged leg and straightening again. He had seen himself looking better, if he was being honest. His eyes were shadowed and lined, his face covered in stubble. His hair was now dull and unkempt, hanging lower around his shoulders than it had since he had first afforded himself the time and care to look after himself since his arrival in Tortall. His left leg was crisscrossed with patterns of scars and shiny, mottled skin. His muscles, once toned and smooth, had become weak and flaccid thanks to months of inactivity. His stomach was no longer flat, and instead, when he pressed his finger to it, it sank in disconcertingly. It had never used to do _that_.

Maybe, he thought wryly to himself as he took a cross-legged sitting position on the floor, automatically ignoring the insistent yanking of tautened skin, he should have listened more closely to the talk at dinner.

* * *

"Numair."

Someone was shaking him. "Numair, wake up."

He gasped, sitting up suddenly. "What is it?"

Through the dark he could make out Abigail, smiling gently at him, concern in her eyes. "Calm down, Numair. Nothing's happened. You were having a nightmare."

"Oh." He leaned back against the headboard, looking at his hands.

Abigail lifted his chin, perching next to him on the bed. "There's no need to be embarrassed. Even great mages are allowed the odd night terror." Her hand slid round to nestle in his hair and pull him closer. "I'd wager," she said with a small smile, "that for it to scare someone such as you so, it was a truly terrifying one as well."

He gave her a grateful look. "Thank you." He cleared his throat, glancing down again. "I hope I didn't wake you."

The woman shrugged, releasing him and sitting back. "I was up anyway."

Numair frowned, rubbing his face with his large hands and looking around. "Can't you sleep? You were awake late last night too. Although not as late as this, I'll admit."

Abigail nodded. "Too many things to think about."

"The war."

"Some of the rumours are just awful, and they're only rumours."

He sat forward with interest. "Have you heard something?"

She shook her head. "Nothing substantial yet, although folk are saying that they should have believed the omens when King Jonathan was crowned. They're saying the Gods are against him and always have been."

"Nonsense," he dismissed the theory out of hand. "They should look at the portents brought by Ozorne's coronation. A red star shone over Tortall then. It was over Carthak too, come to think of it. Ozorne claimed it was a sign of good fortune and the Gods' blessing."

"You can understand their fears though. King Jonathan's cousin was brought back from the Realms of the Dead. There was the earthquake, and then the Great Famine too. People are scared, Numair." She grasped his hand.

"There were logical reasons for all those events. To begin with, the Duke was not truly dead. Before the Champion killed him, he used a powerful spell to separate his soul from his body. Whilst his body bore all the hallmarks of death, in reality, his soul was somewhere between the Mortal and Peaceful Realms." Numair's head tilted to the side, examining her hand as he spoke. "His is the only accurate account that we have of the effects of the spell and the process of resurrection. As you can imagine, only a few mages have successfully brought someone back, or been revived, as most are loath to try it."

She sighed knowingly. "Numair, you were telling me the logical reasons for the events around our King's coronation, not about resurrection."

A brief smile touched his lips at the interruption. "The Duke was also brought back by a very powerful mage. It was at the hand of a mortal and not the Gods that he was returned to this world, and you can be assured that he is most certainly not coming back. The earthquake was the Duke's doing. And as for the Famine – Jonathan tamed the earthquake using the power of the Dominion Jewel. The Jewel draws its resources from the very earth, and it sapped so much of the land's natural power that it was too fatigued to support crops the following year. It's very simple."

"For the likes of you, maybe," she muttered. "Besides, you weren't even here then. How do you know?"

He leaned closer and smiled. "Trust me, Abigail," he said, his voice warm. She giggled. "Anyway, Daine has had it from the very Gods that they have turned their backs on Ozorne. He refuses to worship them, or allow his people to. Perhaps he thinks he is greater even than them." Numair trailed off for a moment, before noticing her anxious look and continuing. "On the other hand, Jon has been nothing but loyal to them, and the discovery of the Dominion Jewel itself – surely that is proof enough of the Gods' favour?"

"Oh, well, that's all right then." Abigail moved towards him, and his arm settled around her form, holding her closely to him as he tried to push all thoughts of Daine from his mind.

"Abigail –" he began softly.

"Hush," she whispered. A strange, determined look had appeared on her face, and for a moment, Numair couldn't recognise her as the woman he knew. She leaned into him, and their lips met.

Numair had to admit it was nice, wherever his affections lay. Her lips were soft, and he could taste faint traces of the plums they'd had for pudding. He fought to put all his concentration on her and relax into the kiss. One hand was nestling in his hair, and the other at his lower back; his arms wrapped around her gently. He leaned back against the headboard, and Abigail followed, pressing into him. She slid her hand round to settle on his stomach for a moment, before beginning to ease his shirt up.

This movement corresponded with a sudden creak from overhead, and Numair sat bolt upright.

"I'm sorry, Abigail. I - I don't think so," he said quietly, inching away slightly, his breathing harsh.

For a moment, she looked strangely triumphant, before a curious expression covered her face that he couldn't quite understand. "And why not? You seemed to want to mere seconds ago."

Numair's eyes flicked unconsciously down, although he refused to say a word. Instead he looked pointedly away.

"Oh," Abigail said, comprehension obviously dawning. "Numair," she started gently, "you know it doesn't matter to me a jot what state your body is in."

Numair nodded briefly, tensing at the subject. She was cutting so close to the bone. In one aspect, anyway. "I'm just not - _ready_ - for, well, _that_ yet." They were all lying. He wasn't returning to himself at all, he thought furiously. Normally, he'd be beyond the point of hesitation by now. A sudden, unbidden thought that perhaps that was far from the decent, principled man he wanted to be crossed his mind fleetingly. "I'm not ready to show anyone."

Abigail gave a brief, disbelieving laugh. "But Numair, I _tend_ your leg. I've seen it far more than even _you_ have. I'm more than familiar with every inch of it by now."

"But that's _different_," he told her quietly, emphasising the last word heavily. "That's one thing; this is another entirely. This is - this is…" he trailed off, not sure how to finish.

"This is something that's been building for months." Abigail cocked her head, her gaze piercing. "I don't understand." She paused, considering. "Are you sure that's all it is?"

"It's –" again he hesitated, "_that_."

"And nothing but your leg?" When he didn't answer, Abigail gave a smile of satisfaction that was by no means happy. "I thought not. Tell me what it is when you've found your answer, Master Salmalín." She stood, smoothing her skirts as she did so, and turned to go.

Numair grabbed her arm. "Don't be angry with me, Abigail. I wouldn't lie to you. I couldn't."

She studied his face closely, her brow creased in a frown. Finally, she took his hand. "I know," she told him softly. "But you don't tell me the whole truth either. What's really troubling you?"

"I –"

"Before you swear it, Numair," she cut in, "I know it's not all. I'm not stupid."

He didn't respond. How could he reply to that?

Apparently, her omniscience continued. "It's Daine, isn't it?"

Again, Numair's only answer was silence.

"If you're so upset about the argument, then _apologise_ to her!" Warm relief flooded through him. "I told you to days ago. It's your own fault it's gone on so long."

He sighed. "How am I meant to apologise to her for acting out of concern?"

Her voice became challenging. "It's not necessarily concern for what is best for her though, is it? It's what _you_ think is best for her." She glanced away. "What's more, it's about what's best for you."

The relief ebbed away only to be replaced by cold apprehension. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly.

Abigail sighed, dropping heavily into the chair by his bed. "What you said to her, about Court games, and men being able to fool women into loving them – that was about you, wasn't it? You're worried that you'd do the same to her, aren't you?"

"Don't be so ridiculous," he replied shakily, trying to laugh it off.

Her tone became cold and hard. "Again, Numair, I'm not an idiot. I can see what's going on before my very eyes. Sometimes I wonder whether you can, though? Maybe it's like Daine says: all that learning doesn't mean you have any common sense."

"_I_ told _her_ that."

"There is no point trying to change the subject," she hissed tearfully. "If anything, it only proves that you know what I'm talking about!"

"Abigail," he began cajolingly.

"Don't try and sweet-talk me into dropping this, Numair Salmalín. I already know." She paused, only to look up at him and search his eyes through the dark, her voice hollow. "You're in love with Daine, aren't you."

It was not so much a question as a statement, and Numair had no answer to it anyway. Now it was his turn to look away.

His reticence seemed to be more than enough verification for her. She sighed shakily. "So it's true, then. I wasn't just imagining it. I'd hoped that –" she stopped suddenly, and Numair could hear a feeble smile in her next words. "Maybe I am being silly." She chuckled, somewhat illogically, it seemed to him. "Either way, I've forced it out of you now, and I know my instincts haven't gone to pot since I went into service. So, how long?"

"Listen, Abigail, it's not like I intended –"

"I'm sure you didn't," she interrupted again, her voice catching in her throat, "but nevertheless, you've dragged me into it now. The least you can do is answer a few questions when I ask them. How long?"

It seemed he had no option. Reminding himself that the mess was of his own making, he took a deep breath and replied. "Midwinter was when I realised."

"Midwinter!" she exclaimed. Her voice seemed loud in the sleeping house. "All this time that you and I have been – and all those times I asked you about her! Have you been lying to me all this time?"

"I tried to stop –"

"You can't stop love, you stupid man. Did you think you could ignore it?"

He hesitated. "I suppose." He felt slightly ill with antipathy towards his own behaviour; he had been such a fool.

She looked at him in wonderment. "I thought, someone as smart as you, would have some sort of understanding of these things."

"It's not as if these things have been transcribed into some book or manuscript or other," he told her drily.

"Obviously," she snorted. "Is that the only way you learn things?"

Declining to reply, he said instead, "I'm sorry, Abigail."

She waved his apology away. "I can't say that the thought hadn't crossed my mind before. I'm not even sure if it was a surprise when I realised." She didn't seem to pause for breath before she added, "What are you going to do?"

He glanced up at her. "How do you mean?"

"About Daine. You can't just continue not speaking to her. Are you going to apologise, are you going to tell her, or will you carry on as if nothing's changed?"

"I don't see why not."

She laughed disbelievingly. "You've made such a success of it so far."

"What am I meant to do?" he hissed.

"You could start by apologising to her," she retorted. "As far as I can see, _she_, at least, has done nothing wrong."

Numair flinched at the undisguised slight. "Abigail, what must you think of me?"

She snorted. "What I think of you ain't polite enough to repeat." She paused and heaved a sigh. "I think that you're a selfish coward, and an insensitive one to boot."

"I daresay you're right."

She glared at him squarely. "Numair, the last man that insulted me like you received far more than criticisms, believe me. Count yourself lucky that this is all you'll get. Everything you've done has been to your benefit, in one way or another, although you might not think so. For all you say that you tried to ignore loving her, you still put me in your way to distract yourself, whether intentional or not. Not only that, you've pushed Daine away too."

"I'm trying to protect her, Abigail. I have my reasons."

"And that's why you're a coward," she continued, undaunted. "You may think that's what you're doing, but you're only hurting her. You're doing it to protect yourself. You told Lachann to stay away from her because you can't stand the thought of him near her, or the prospect of losing her to someone else." She paused, considering. "You're scared of her reaction, I can tell that much. What I don't understand is why you're scared that she'll reciprocate."

He could barely respond to that. Finally, he whispered, "If you'd been to Court, you'd understand why. Rumours and gossip like that – it could destroy her."

"Nonsense," Abigail snorted. "I've seen her give Lachann a telling, and you, come to think of it. Nothing could destroy her that she didn't allow to. So why are you scared?"

"Because I don't deserve her!" he hissed. "Nor you, for that matter!"

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," Abigail returned sharply. "At this time of night, I could quite happily add 'pathetic' to my list. I'm far too tired to be sympathetic anymore."

"What time is it, anyway?"

She shrugged. "It must be getting on for the fourth hour now."

"No wonder," he murmured. "Perhaps we should leave this till the morning."

She sniffed. "You won't escape that easily."

Numair shrugged. "So how do you suggest I correct my errors?"

Abigail swung her head to look at him. "It's quite simple. You might understand how omens are not omens, and magical workings and such, but you clearly have no grasp on relationships, do you?"

"It's not my strongest point," he admitted with a shrug.

"No," she snorted. "Not from what I've heard. I think half of Corus knows about _your_ 'relationships'."

"Thank you for reminding me."

He could just make out her smug smile through the dim light. "You need to regain her trust. You've managed to imply that you don't think she's capable enough to handle mature issues." She shifted so that it was easier to observe him as she spoke. "You've undermined her. You need to show her that you think she's responsible."

"I do!" Abigail's return glare was just apparent in the gloom. "I'll think of something." He yawned widely, scrubbing his face while he thought. Finally, he shrugged. "I could ask her to help me again. I think it hurt her when I asked you."

"I thought –" Abigail gave an incomprehensible laugh. "I see it now. You change who bandages your leg. It makes me think you trust me more, Daine that you welcome her attention less, and keeps her away from you, which hides _your_ true affections." About to dispute her theory, Numair fell silent when she spoke again. "And this time, you need to build your relationship with Daine because you went so far in the wrong direction you almost destroyed it, so she tends you again, and in turn has more faith in you. You want my attention less - after all, you've no need of it now that you've admitted your real feelings for me - and the only person still unaware of your affections is Daine."

It would be callous of him to ask that she not enlighten Daine on the matter, but Numair knew he couldn't keep the pleading from his eyes at least.

Abigail laughed again, though it was by no means happy. "I won't tell her, Numair."

"Thank you, Abigail. I'm grateful, and truly sorry."

"By the Great Mother Goddess, I hope you are."

"I am," he told her sincerely. "What can I do to prove it?"

"You can apologise to Daine to start with, so that this house isn't so miserable any more."

"As soon as I wake," he promised.

"If I were you, I'd consider telling her how you feel, too. If I'm not much mistaken, she might share some of those feelings with you. And if you want her to reciprocate –"

"I _don't_ want her to."

"Ridiculous man," she muttered. "Don't be such a fool. You'll both be unhappy then, and here I thought the aim was that you wouldn't be."

He crossed his arms defiantly. "If I decide to tell her, which I can assure you I won't, it will be as and when I'm ready to."

Abigail smirked again. "Fool man. I'll tell you this as well, this is the last time that I do a favour for George Cooper, no matter how nice he asks."


	23. Chapter 22: Appeasement

**Next chapter! It's a little bit longer than normal, but not as long as I originally had it! Thanks again to all my reviewers. I'd say more, but I get off this train in 10 mins, the Wifi is dreadfully slow, and I want to update it before next week! **

**Ian, if you can spot the very subtle Green Wing reference, then I'll make fudge. In fact, if anyone other than Ian, knows what Green Wing is, I'll be amazed. British comedy at its best.**

**Consider it well and truly disclaimed. Green Wing is the creation of Victoria Pile and her team of wonderful writers. TP's parts are obvious. The little that it left is mine!**

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Chapter 22

It had taken barely more than a sharp glare from Abigail when he emerged from his room late that morning to encourage him

It had taken barely more than a sharp glare from Abigail when he emerged from his room late that morning to encourage him. "She's upstairs," she said pointedly, before returning to her work.

Pausing only for a moment before embarking on the climb, he leaned heavily against the railing on one side and the wall on the other. Suddenly, ascending the stairs in order to apologise to someone who clearly didn't want to speak to him didn't seem like the brainwave of a great scholar.

It seemed more like the rash decisions of a foolish man who let his heart reign over his body rather than his head.

Numair had not been one of those men for years, and he wasn't sure he liked the sudden reversion.

Instead, he pushed his weight forwards, placing one hand a few stairs above him to brace himself as he wobbled. He wasn't sure he fancied Abigail's reaction if he turned back either. Grasping the railing on his left tightly, tentatively he placed his foot on the next step before putting his weight on it. Slowly but surely he reached the half-landing, and, grasping the dividing wall, looked back down at the ground below him. A rush of dizziness washed over him, and he clung tightly to the railing, waiting for it to pass before he carried on. For all that he could bend his knee once more and he had not been relying on any form of crutch for some time, it was still a struggle for the mage, and when he finally reached the top, awareness of how little exercise he'd actually had in the past few months made itself apparent to him. For a moment he stood while he regained his breath, trying to remember if he'd ever been told which room was Daine's.

"Master Numair!" a voice quietly exclaimed. Kaddar was standing in the doorway of a room that Numair could only hope was his own. "What are you doing?"

"I've come to speak to her."

The prince looked mildly surprised as he gesturing towards a closed door. "I wish you better luck with her than I had."

Numair nodded to the prince as he returned to his room. Falteringly, he edged his way along the corridor, pausing outside the room to compose himself. When he felt as ready as he could – though he still felt as if he was waiting for the announcement of his execution – he tapped softly at her door.

"Kaddar, I'm really not interested in sparring, or studying, just now. I've told you already this morning." He couldn't help but wince at the exasperation in her voice.

"It's not Kaddar," he said softly.

There was silence from within, and then a "What?"

"It's not Kaddar," he repeated, louder this time. There was a scrabbling inside, and the door opened a crack, to reveal a dishevelled-looking Daine, red-rimmed eyes blazing and hair curling wildly.

"How did you get up here? Can you manage the stairs?"

"It's only _stairs_, Daine." Her assessing gaze was unflinching at his confident tone, so he shrugged, and decided to admit the truth instead. "Can I come in? Only, climbing all those stairs has tired me out a bit."

Concern flashed across her face, and she pushed the door open fully, moving as he passed into the room. She shifted some parchment from her chair and gestured for him to sit down on it. Instead, he moved to the bed. It was closer, after all. She hesitated, deciding what to do, before perching on the chair. Numair held in a sigh of disappointment; it was probably for the best.

"Are you all right?" he began gently.

"No," she replied frankly. "Are you?"

"I suppose not," he conceded. "Daine, I'm sorry. I've been a fool."

She merely raised an eyebrow at him. Numair sighed. It was so important for her to understand the sincerity behind his words.

"Truly, Daine. I shouldn't have spoken to Lachann as I did, and it was entirely disrespectful of me not to consider your feelings on the issue. Nor should I have implied that I don't believe you capable of caring for yourself. It's not what I think at all, you must know that." He glanced up at her. She met his gaze impassively, her arms crossed over her chest. "I should have kept my long nose out of business that wasn't mine," he added with a slight smile, relief filling him as her expression softened.

"You were only acting out of concern, Numair. I know that much."

"That's as may be, but it didn't help any, did it?"

Daine whistled. "Abigail's spoken to you good and proper, hasn't she?"

He leant back on one arm. "She might have," he admitted. "It doesn't mean I don't regret what I said though."

She made a face and crossed to sit next to him. "I'm probably owe you an apology too. I shouldn't have said some of what I did, especially not in front of Abigail." She looked awkward and unsure of herself.

Gently he took hold of her hand and squeezed it. "That doesn't matter, Daine. Abigail and I –" He stopped, not sure what to say. "It's not an issue," he finished finally. "You mustn't worry about it." Still she looked unsure. "I mean it. I'm sorry for all of it."

"And so am I," she told him, meeting his eyes squarely. Briefly he felt his breath catch in his lungs, and he dropped her hand, pulling her into a one-armed hug so that he wouldn't have to face her any longer.

Instead, he carried on with his apology. "About Kaddar."

"I didn't tell him exactly what you said," she interrupted.

Numair smiled. "I'm grateful." She snorted against his shoulder. "No, I am. Life in this house is intolerable enough as it is. One more reason for tension would be the end of me, I think."

Her head shifted against him, and he brought both arms up to hold her slightly tighter. "He didn't ask you why you think that?" Her voice was muffled by his shoulder.

"No." He sighed, releasing her. "He's a bright boy though. I'm sure he'll work it out."

"Can I ask why?"

He hesitated. "Because I'm a foolish old man, mostly, who cares for your welfare so much that I generally get in the way."

She gave a slight smile. "Foolish, yes. Old, no."

"Thanks ever so, magelet."

She giggled, and he grinned in return.

They sat quietly for a while, Daine seemingly content enough to be silent whilst he stared at the floor. Eventually he sighed heavily, before continuing with the words he'd been readying since Abigail had left him the night before. "He'd do well by you, you know."

"Who would?" Daine looked genuinely bemused when he glanced up at her.

"Kaddar," Numair said, trying to make his voice as neutral as possible. "He's a nice enough boy, and intelligent too."

Daine frowned curiously at him, before blushing and giving him half a smile. "He's also heir to an Empire, whose ministers would rather see me locked up before letting me sit on a throne. Besides, it's too hot there." Slowly, her blush deepening, she added, "I don't think he's the one for me, Numair."

At that news, the knot in his stomach loosened significantly, and he perked up slightly. "Someone else, then?" He watched with amusement, and a more than powerful curiosity, as Daine's face only grew redder. He _knew_ he shouldn't be asking this, if only to save himself from torturing himself more. _Too old, too weak, not good enough, and she'd be disinterested too._ More information to jibe at himself with.

"There might be," she said cautiously.

"Lachann," he shot back immediately.

"No," she sighed. For a moment, Numair was worried that he had gone too far again, but he thought he could see the trace of a smile on her lips. He scrutinised her face closely, before nodding contentedly.

"In the Palace?"

She hesitated. "Not currently."

Numair snatched at this new piece of information. "Someone else in the Own, then? Or the Riders maybe?"

"No." Daine broke eye contact with him, her gaze settling on her wringing hands. "He's not any sort of military anything. He's in Corus, if you must know."

"A student at the Royal University?" he asked, ignoring the fact that Daine had had very little opportunity to meet students in the past months.

"No!" she exclaimed sharply.

There was silence for a moment, before she glanced back up at him. Something in her face was unreadable, and it only goaded him more. "Does he – does he have a favourite type of tree?"

Daine snorted with laughter. "I can't say I've ever asked," she smiled. "I certainly won't be telling you who he may or may not be now."

"Why ever not?" he exclaimed with feigned shock. As was his intention, her smile increased, and his grew in correlation.

"Because I quite like him in human form." She shrugged. "Of course, it's your choice."

Numair leaned back, pondering her choice of words. "Magelet," he said suddenly, "are there birds nesting in the roof?"

She gave a guilty smile. "How can you tell?"

"The noise gives it away somewhat. Have you been feeding them?"

"Of course. The chicks only hatched two days ago." She stood up. "Do you want to see them?"

He frowned. "How?"

She smiled. "They're in the eaves; we can watch them from the attic. It can be a study of the breeding habits of the house sparrow," she wheedled.

"Daine, I didn't know there was an attic. How are we meant to get up there?"

"More stairs," she told him. "Will you manage?"

"You've persuaded me," he replied, and her smile turned into a grin as she seemed to truly relax for the first time. "After lunch?" She murmured her agreement and he nodded. "Very well then. Now," he added with a confessionary tone, "would you be so kind as to assist me downstairs again? Otherwise I fear it may be some time before I get there, and with none of my dignity in tact."

"Magelet, I have an ulterior motive," he admitted as he braced himself on her shoulder at the top of the stairs. "I need your help as well."

"Oh, really?" she said suspiciously.

"I'd appreciate it if you could help me with my leg tonight."

Daine looked up at him, her face a mixture of amusement and perplexity. "I thought only Abigail was allowed to come anywhere near you these days." Numair shrugged, unwilling to say more. Daine's head ducked, watching their feet make slow progress towards the ground floor. "Of course I'll help, Numair. You only had to ask."

* * *

"So this is where you've been hiding all this time, then."

Daine frowned at him as he cleared the steep staircase and examined his surroundings. "It's hardly as if I've been disappearing."

"Apart from all those times that you've vanished and no one's been able to find you," he observed, "when the most we've known is that you haven't left the building. Are you sure those beams can support us both?"

"Yes, yes," she said distractedly, fiddling with some of the wooden shingles. "They've been supporting my weight for months."

"I feel compelled to remind you, magelet, that there is so much more of me than you."

She made a triumphant noise in her throat as she pulled two of them free, and peered through the space she had made. "As long as you stay on the beams and don't put your foot through the ceiling of my room, you'll be fine."

"Apparently you're doing all the destruction of the house necessary." He looked at the wooden planks, apparently unconvinced. "Would now be the correct time to remind you that my balance is nigh on non-existent?"

"When has that ever stopped you from wanting to study?" She crossed over to him and reached a hand out, waiting for him to take it.

"If you put it that way," he said hesitantly. Grasping her hand, he let her lead him across the attic, steadying him as she went, and position him against one of the upright rafter beams.

As Numair settled himself, Daine took out his writing desk and set out parchment and ink for herself. The male house sparrow had already come in to investigate, and was examining Daine's hair with great interest. This would be perfect nesting material, he informed her.

Daine giggled. "I'm sorry, wing-brother, but you can't have my plumage for your nest. It keeps me warm."

It would keep my hatchlings warm too, the bird pointed out.

"Why don't I see if I can't find you some good material instead?" she asked him, extracting him from a under a curl.

If the bird could have sighed, he would have. Very well, he said dejectedly. His head cocked to observe Numair. Does the Stork-man have any plumage to spare? He has an awful lot of it.

Daine laughed again and relayed the request. Gravely, the mage extended a finger to the bird as it inspected him. "I'm sure you and I could come to some sort of arrangement." He glanced up at Daine, giving her a look that made her stomach warm. "Sometimes I forget how enlightening it is to spend time with you and the People. You seem to share an entirely unique outlook on the world." He cleared his throat suddenly and returned his attention to the bird. "So, tell me what you've observed of the species then? I'm not sure there's any need to take notes, for all that you seem to have watched them. How did this pair manage to nest so close to you? I'm assuming there are other pairs in the vicinity."

"House sparrows are loyal to their nesting sites, so the others couldn't really move, even if they wanted to. The rest of the colony are scattered across a few streets. The male, like this little fellow here, has brown and black plumage, with a grey crown and a black face, whereas the female is mostly brown. That's because us females don't need all the fancy plumage to attract attention." Numair chuckled. "They nest as part of a colony – this one has twelve pairs in it. The parents share brooding between them and the hatchlings will be brooded for about six more days, maybe more considering that these ones are a bit early and it's cold…"

Eventually he nodded, satisfied that she knew all that she could. His next question, however, took her slightly off guard.

"Why is it you come up here?"

Daine shrugged, transferring her gaze to the gap she'd made in the wall. "I don't feel so trapped up here, I suppose. With the chinks in the roof tiles, and especially since the birds started nesting, I can almost fool myself into thinking this is the attic in the Rider stables, or even the one in Snowsdale. Though," she added as an afterthought, "none of them came apart so easily." Suddenly she glanced up at him, blushed, and looked away again quickly. "It sounds stupid, I know."

Numair shook his head. "Whatever it takes to make you feel better," he murmured. "It doesn't seem silly to me."

She gave a small, grateful smile, but did not look away from the small clefts in the roof and walls.

"How does it feel, to you?"

"Being stuck here?" Numair nodded. She paused. "It's hard to describe. It's a… tightening, really." She gestured to her chest. "I can't breathe properly anymore. I feel sick all the time, and the only thing that takes it away even slightly is feeling the breeze because then I don't feel so closed in all the time."

"Meditation should help with that," he informed her gently. "You have to stop breathing here," he put his hand flat on his own chest, "and into here," he said, his other hand pressing into his stomach. "You shouldn't feel so sick or so panicked then. I'd increase the size of the holes in the shield, but…"

"You can't. At least it's something," she said finally. "Thank you."

He shot a smile at her before turning his gaze back towards the nestlings.

"And you?"

"Not so claustrophobic, I expect, although I am, somewhat. It's a frustration more than anything – I'm sure you feel it too. We could be out there doing something, even just working with the Riders, and training the pages and squires how to combat immortals."

"Or we could be helping fight them."

"Exactly." He shook his head. "No point in thinking what we _could_ be doing though, magelet. We could waste away that way. Instead, I think we should be preparing for what we will be doing when we get out of here." He took her hand and squeezed it tightly. "It won't be long now, Daine, not if I can help it. We'll be out of here sooner than either of us expect, I'll wager."

"Anything under a year would be a surprise at this rate," she muttered darkly.

Numair laughed loudly. "Gods, magelet, I've missed you. Next time, you can work on Jonathan."

She tried to suppress the warm fluttering in her stomach by concentrating fully on the nesting birds, letting her magic drift until she found the mother three streets away, rooting through a muddy vegetable patch in search of worms. She guided her to pieces of stale bread that had been laid out by a woman five gardens over, and if she could fly to the Palace, there was a kitchen maid Daine knew that always left out food for the birds. The mother thanked her and flew off, and she returned to the silence of the attic. Eventually, Numair cleared his throat. She turned to stare at him; he clearly wanted to say something to her, but his eyes were fixed on the nest before them. After a few moments of watching his throat working, she nudged him with her elbow. "What?"

He jumped slightly, glancing quickly at her then away again. "You mentioned Snowsdale. Have you - have you -" he fell silent when the mother bird returned to be greeted by a tremendous crescendo from the nestlings. "Have you thought about your own mother at all recently?"

"Oh," she murmured, suddenly feeling deflated. "Not particularly. No more than usual anyway."

"And how often is usual?" His soft question was aimed across the room.

"Every day." She drew her legs up to rest her chin on them; all the better to conceal her face behind.

Hesitantly, he raised his arm and rested his hand on her shoulder. "Daine, I don't mean to push you on the subject, but Beltane is soon; if you pray to them, then perhaps -"

"Numair, she _lied_ to me. She knew who my father was all that time, but she let me think it was some stranger - she could have saved both of us from so much in Snowsdale."

The hand on her back slid across to her other shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "Think practically, Daine. How likely was it that the people there would have believed that your mother was telling the truth when she said Weiryn, the local hunt God, was your father? She would have been laughed at."

"_We_ were laughed at anyway, Numair."

He was still watching the nestlings across the attic. "Then would it have made much difference?"

"It would have to me," she hissed softly, blinking back the sharp stinging in her eyes.

"In what way?"

She knew Numair was trying to press her for information, and she would have refused him simply out of spite - he knew it hurt her to ask - but she had done the same thing to him often enough, about Abigail, and his injuries, even Lindhall. Instead she bit her lip, trying to compose herself enough to speak. "I could have known, even if no one else did. I could have met him, instead of him being some stranger all my life. I mean, it's not like he cares anyway, he didn't even look in on me himself, he just got the Badger to do it for him, but -" She broke off, aware she was rambling, and took a deep breath, tugging on a wayward curl. "I could have found out about my magic earlier."

"And missed out on having me as your teacher?" Numair raised an eyebrow, his voice wry. It drew the soft chuckle he had hoped for. Finally he turned to look at her, watching her face closely. "Then take the opportunity, Daine. Beltane is close enough. Even outwith their jurisdiction, they might hear your prayers. They may watch over you; they might know already that you know who they are, and where."

"But why haven't they come already then?"

Numair didn't have an answer to that. Instead, he turned his head away and pulled her into a half-hug, the arm around her tightening significantly.

"And what if they don't come?"

With his eyes fixed elsewhere, she had no way to tell what he was thinking, but even so, she could see that his face had clouded over. He was silent for a moment, before blinking rapidly and turning to look at her once again. "Magelet, with all you've told me about your mother, I doubt very much that Sarra would pass the chance to visit her daughter if she knows she could. Perhaps she thought that it would scare you if she appeared suddenly and now that you know…" he shrugged. "All I know, Daine, is that if the chance to see my parents again suddenly presented itself, I wouldn't reject it without thinking about it – hard – first. And if I could see the people I loved who have died –" Numair shook his head, breaking eye contact with her again. He closed his eyes momentarily, and Daine knew suddenly who he was thinking about. "All I'm saying," he said finally, his voice rough, "is that you need to think about it before dismissing the chance to see your mother and meet your father out of hand. If the opportunity does indeed arise, then promise me that you'll consider it carefully."

"Numair," she began, but he interrupted her.

"All I'm asking is that you think about it, Daine, not that you do it."

She looked down at the ground, concentrating on her toes. "I don't know." Surely he had to understand it would be hard for her?

Her teacher sighed. "You'll make the right decision," he said confidently. He squeezed her tightly once more, then released her, folding his arms in front of him. She shivered slightly, wrapping her arms around her knees and fidgeting with the fraying hem of her breeches.

"Magelet?" His voice had a tone of warning in it.

"What?"

He caught her hand, tugging it away from her trousers, and gestured towards the nest. "Why don't you tell me about their social behaviour?"

* * *

"Numair Salmalín of Tortall, formerly Arram Draper of Tyra and the Imperial University, and Veralidaine Sarrasri of Tortall, formerly of Galla, you have been accused and found guilty of conspiring against his Imperial Majesty, and the Carthaki Empire. Our laws demand your death in the eyes of Mithros. Your executions -" The herald breaks off abruptly as the court stands.

Ozorne enters the courtroom. Numair and Daine are forced to bow to him, the spears at the back of their necks demanding they do so. "I will speak to the guilty alone now."

The two are pushed back into the holding room they are kept in whilst they have been on trial and left alone. Daine edges closer to him automatically, her hands bound behind her back. Numair wishes he could do something to help her, find the words she needs to reassure her, but he has been searching for them for so long now he does not even try. A mage collar bites into his neck. He's seen them before, on prisoners and slaves, even worn one once, but he did not think he'd have to again. He didn't think he'd be in Carthak again.

Suddenly, Ozorne has joined them. He is saying something to him, but Numair isn't quite sure what it is. He only knows that he wants to punch the man that is sneering in his face.

Then Ozorne turns to Daine. This conversation Numair can hear all too well. "I could save you, you know. It's a shame to waste something so pleasing. I wouldn't ask much from you." He leans forward, runs a finger down Daine's cheek. "Beyond the obvious, anyway."

Numair doesn't think he's had so many violent urges towards one person in his entire life. Thoughts fly through his head that he has never thought himself capable of, and sick anger floods him. Is it not enough that Numair will be dead tomorrow? He wishes he wasn't bound, he wishes his hands were free and his Gift was accessible. He wishes he has the strength to retaliate. Ozorne glances at him and his lips curl. His finger continues to trail down Daine's neck. Daine doesn't even, can't even, flinch away from him. "Never," she spits, her voice hot with fury. "I never want you to save me."

Even as she seals her own death warrant, Numair is proud of his student. Ozorne's face clouds with anger, then becomes emotionless. "Then your sentences stand. At dawn tomorrow you will be executed." The hate in Ozorne's voice could burn. "And I will be delighted to watch."

They are on their own in a cell. Daine's hands are free, and she is working on his. "We can't escape from here," he tells her. "We're trapped."

"I know," she whispers, and he can see tears running down her face.

He takes her in his arms, holding her tight to him as she sobs. "I'm sorry," he whispers time and time again, kissing her head. "I'm sorry," he tells her until she sleeps.

Dawn, already. Daine is being marched before him to the executioner's block. Ozorne is intent on making this as painful as possible for him. The crowd roars around them, angry and demanding. Numair can almost smell the blood that has been shed there before, is about to be shed.

There is a scuffle in front of him. Daine has shrunk into the smallest starling, freeing herself from her clothes and bonds, escaping into the air. He thought one of them should survive when he whispered his instructions to her last night. His student transforms herself into a sparrow hawk for speed. "Fly, magelet, fly," he whispers over the surge of noise from the crowd.

"Go!" he yells, "Hurry!" as the archers release their arrows. "Fly!" as one slices through her body, jerking her upwards and off from her flight path. "_Fly!_" as her body plummets towards the ground, impaled on the arrow.

"_Daine!_" He jerked upwards in bed, soaked in sweat. His arms were unsteady as they supported his body, and he gasped for air as he tried to regain control of himself. He took a deep, shaking breath, forcing his breathing pattern to return to normal and his pulse to slow down.

He was safe in his room in Golden Wood, or as safe as he could be there. Daine was no doubt sleeping soundly in her bed upstairs, as far away from Ozorne and any Carthaki arrows as she could be. One shaking hand came to rest over his eyes, pressing his temples.

He'd gone more than a week without the dreams since he had apologised to Daine, and he'd almost dared hope that that would be the end of them. It was foolish, he knew, but it was progress. Stumbling through to the wash stand, he scrubbed his face and dampened his hair, trying to force visions of the dream from his mind with the cold shock of the water. His actions failed miserably, his mind replaying Daine's bird form being wrenched to the side and plummeting to the ground endlessly. Everything he did in attempt to divert himself, devise new methods to test Daine's shapeshifting, experiments for Kaddar and practise their knowledge of immortals, was to no avail: still the image haunted him, accompanied by a sick sense of grief and horror.

It was ridiculous, he knew. Daine was most likely fast asleep and unaware of his worrying, mainly because nothing had happened to her. It was just a dream, after all. He hated illogicality. Finally he gave in, and silently, cursing himself for his foolishness all the way, he crept upstairs; the task was much easier than it had been a week earlier. He hesitated outside her door, his hand grasping the doorknob. It was silly; she would be asleep, and he didn't want to wake her. And still part of him insisted that he check that she was.

"If this is what it takes for me to sleep," he muttered softly to himself. He sent his Gift to cover the hinges of the door before he opened it, preventing it from making a noise to wake her as he slipped inside.

Inside, he hesitated for a long moment, his eyes taking time to adjust to the light as his heart pounded in his chest, uncomfortable guilt surging. He shouldn't be here. The mage had to force his feet forwards, and had only taken a few steps towards the bed before Daine woke. "N'mair?" she murmured in confusion.

"It's just me," he whispered back. "Go back to sleep Daine."

Instead he could hear movement coming from the bed. It was too dark to see anything, but he heard and saw the striking of a flint, and in a moment the room had flared with light from the candle on her bedside table. "What are you doing?" Her eyes blinked at the light and she scrunched her face up, her voice heavy with sleep.

"I'm just – checking on you," he said in an undertone. He moved closer to her. "Are you all right?"

She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the glow. "Why? Has anything happened? Are you well?"

He smiled softly at her before moving to the table and picking up the candle. "I'm fine, it's nothing. I'm being illogical." Hesitating, he bent down and pressed a kiss to her hair. "Good night, Daine. Goddess bless your dreams." With any luck, she wouldn't remember this by the morning. He blew the candle out again, plunging the room back into darkness.

As he slipped back out of the doorway, he heard her vague response. "Night, N'mair."

* * *

It was Numair and not Daine who heard the arrival of the messenger the following afternoon, heralded by the pounding of hooves on the cobbles in the streets. The fact that it was a courier who had come, and not a messenger bird or speech spell, was in itself significant. What was so important that it couldn't be trusted to either of those mediums?

That was enough to make Numair run into the courtyard, ignoring the pain of stretched skin and the trembling of wasted muscles in his legs. Daine was already taking the runner's horse into the stables, stroking its neck soothingly as large clouds of its breath drifted into the cold air. He gestured at her to hurry up as he led the messenger inside.

"Take a seat," the mage told him, scrutinising the man closely. "You're one of Raoul's sergeants, aren't you?" he said, putting a name to the face. "Balim." The soldier nodded. "What's so important that they've reduced you to messenger?"

"You have no idea," the sergeant murmured softly. "All I can say now is that I've never been gladder to see a mage of your ability in my life. We'll need everything we've got now."

Catching his nervous air, Numair turned to the door instead of replying. "Daine! Come on!" he shouted as Ùisdean pushed his way past him.

"What're you doing here?" the soldier demanded. "You're meant to be out in the field."

"I'm here, I'm here," Daine hurried in. "I just wanted to make sure Whitemist was cared for. He's with Graham now."

"Selecting new recruits from the trainees," Balim replied to Ùisdean grimly. "Our squad alone lost five in one attack, and Coinneach lost an arm. We joined Osbern's lot – they were down three themselves – and they ordered us back in. Didn't know my Lord Raoul were already here. We were meant to be over Lake Tirragen way, but we barely made it to where the river feeds the Olorun."

Numair sighed as he set the wards on the house and room, one ear on the guards' conversation. "Magelet, I'm never sure how you haven't realised it by now, but the Own are more than capable of looking after horses to standards that match yours."

"I'll need to talk to Graham too," Balim put in before Daine could respond. "Not just yet though. This must not leave this room. No one, not Prince Kaddar," he told Daine and Numair, "and not your soldiers," he continued, this time directed at Ùisdean. "You might want to take a seat," the soldier told Numair.

Numair shook his head, declining the offer as nerves seemed to solidify his stomach. "I have found recently that those words are followed quickly by unpleasant news, which usually gets me to my feet anyway. Therefore, I would prefer to remain standing."

For a moment, the sergeant allowed a brief smile to touch his lips, before his expression became solemn once more. "So be it. Carthaki soldiers have landed. They took us completely by surprise, and word only got through this morning. They've taken several leagues of land altogether." He paused for a minute, allowing them each a moment to absorb this information. "We've managed to contain them where they are, but you'll appreciate that this gives them a base to land troops and launch attacks from. Not only that, but the worst of it is, they've surrounded Port Legann, by sea and land."

"Great Mother Goddess protect us," Numair whispered.

"Our navy is not substantial enough to both break the siege on the harbour _and_ try and prevent the Carthakis from landing further men and supplies. Of course, the fact that they can use their immortal allies to fly resources in is also troubling. We have no definitive way to break their supply chain."

"So Legann?" Numair prompted.

"Is all but lost," Balim replied. "We have to assume we can't get supplies in or out, because we don't know yet if we can pass through enemy lines. There are a few mages in Legann who are capable of sending messages beyond those lines, but information so far has been limited."

"What about the north?" Ùisdean enquired. "Is the situation there so grievous?"

"I don't know if you heard, but there was a heavy snowfall last week, so the passes are still blocked. It's almost impossible for troops, both mounted and on foot, to reach the Vassa, so we can be reasonably sure we're not about to face a mass land invasion. However, we're still under attack from the air – hurroks, Stormwings, winged apes, wyverns and the like. That's what I need to speak to Graham about. I also have news about your dragon."

Daine sat forward instantly, her face worried. "What about her?" Numair pressed a hand to her shoulder, gripping it tightly.

"Kitten and Master Tkaa have been sent north by his Majesty."

"What?" Daine exclaimed.

Balim looked at Numair. "I'm sure I don't need to inform you about dragons' ability to fend off wyverns," he explained. "The City of the Gods has come under heavy attack by wyverns in recent weeks, and while mages and archers are all very well, Kitten has proved the most effective method of dispersing them."

"But she's a baby still!" Daine objected loudly.

"Daine, hush," Numair said urgently. "Listen," he said, coming round to kneel in front of her. "Jonathan wouldn't have sent her there if he didn't have faith in her safety. Tkaa is with her, and no one knows better than he how her magic works and the best way to protect her. Don't forget that he's a very formidable foe in his own right, and she'll be surrounded by mages. Kitten'll be lucky if she manages to see the outside and isn't just being constantly admired and studied." He gripped her hand tightly and lifted her chin so that she met his eyes. "She'll be as safe as safe can be, otherwise Jon would never have taken the risk."

Her eyes blazed defiantly. "But she's still so _young_, Numair. I should be with her – _we_ should be with her."

"I know," he whispered to her, squeezing her hand tightly. "I know. And we'll be with her as soon as we can, I swear it to you." He glanced at Balim over his shoulder. "Is there anything else you'd like to break to us whilst you're here?" He would apologise to him later; at the moment he was fluctuating between concealed fury at Jon's deployment of Kitten – no matter how effective she was – and concern for Daine.

"There's talk of riots in the north and the hill country. With the borders being closed, and people being nervous and trying to shore up their own supplies, folk are swarming like flies around the food convoys. A sack of grain goes missing here, and another there, and his Majesty can't resent his people taking food that's intended for them, but it adds up. Ozorne's paying bandits to cause havoc in the hill country. Between them attacking the convoys and the villages, as well as the immortals harrying us constantly, we're losing food and the people are losing morale. Truth be told, we could do with a pair of mages like you out in the field. At least Daine can warn us when immortals or bandits are nearby. Between your fair eye," he gestured at Daine, "and your Gift," he said, returning his gaze to Numair, "who knows how much better we'd be managing now?"

Numair straightened, flexing the cramping muscles in his leg, and dragged a seat over to sit by his student. "Is anyone else of the same opinion?"

Balim looked wary for a moment, and then smiled slightly. "Half the army, if you want to know the truth. My Lord Raoul refuses to talk about it, which most likely means he's in disagreement with the King again and doesn't want to come off worst out of it. I know the men in the Own feel it, and the Riders too. It's irregulars that have seen most of the action so far. They're much better placed to be roaming the hill country and scouting small local areas than us. At the same time though, we can understand his Majesty's motives, and it is his and his commanders' opinions that matter."

Numair sighed. "You are wasted as a soldier. You should have been a diplomat."

"Tell that to the men and immortals he's arrested and killed," Ùisdean broke in with a menacing smile.

Numair cast him a baleful look as Daine winced and recoiled into her seat. Balim cleared his throat. "If that's everything, I need to speak to Graham urgently," he reminded them.

Daine's quiet voice replied. "I want you to take Cloud back to the Palace."

Numair spun round in his seat to face her. He had seen it too many times not to recognise the determined expression she had taken on, and realise that it was pointless to argue with her.

"Magelet, are you sure?"

He could see her throat working, but she couldn't seem to speak. Instead she simply nodded. She wore the stubborn jaw and resolute countenance he knew well, but it did little to hide the desolation that was apparent in her eyes. "It's not fair that I keep her here," she said finally. "Not when she could be out in the fields with the ponies, and it'll do no good for her to be cooped up here when she needs to be exercising properly before the war. We'll no doubt be doing a fair bit of riding then."

Balim nodded approvingly, and though Numair couldn't help but agree, he knew what the decision must be costing Daine. That somewhat cut through the pride that he felt for her. Taking her hand again, he squeezed it tightly and smiled reassuringly at her. He would have released it then, but she only gripped him tighter, sandwiching his hand between both of hers.

"If Cloud will come with me, I'll take her," the sergeant said. "She'll behave?"

"I guarantee it," Daine said miserably. "We've talked about it, and she thinks it's a good idea too. She won't tell me that she's sick of not being able to run when she wants to, but I know she is, and I'm better placed'n most to know how that feels."

"Very well."

"Daine," Numair began hesitantly, "why don't you go outside and say goodbye to Cloud properly?" His student took a deep breath to compose herself and nodded, murmuring her farewell. When the magic had resealed behind her, he turned round and announced angrily, to no one in particular, "In Mithros' name, what in the Black God's Realms does Jonathan think he is doing?"

Ùisdean shook his head. "I'm sure he has his reasons."

"He always has his reasons," the mage hissed furiously. "Kitten's no more than an infant in human terms though, and to send her without even consulting us – without even warning us, or letting us say goodbye... If something happens to her, Daine will be devastated." He declined to mention the effect that the dragonet's possible death would have on him, though he promised himself that Jonathan would bear the brunt of his reaction if anything happened to her.

"I'd assume that he is making the best of his resources." Ùisdean replied unflinchingly. Numair sighed dismissively, knowing that he himself had used that very argument with the King. "Listen, I'm sure you're right, Numair. His Majesty wouldn't have given the order if he didn't think Master Tkaa could protect her." He studied the mage with concern.

He made a face. "Kitten is barely a child by our standards. She's not even _three_ years old and yet Jonathan feels it suitable to send her to the battlefront, without her guardian. Nevertheless, he wouldn't employ Kalasin as a healer, and that girl is a natural born talent."

"That could be just as much because the Princess is second in line to the throne as her age," Ùisdean pointed out fairly.

"Listen," Balim interrupted. "I need to talk to Graham _now_."

His tone was enough to push Numair's ire aside. He and Ùisdean exchanged looks. The magic sealing the room disappeared with a flick of his hand, and Ùisdean hurried out, returning a moment later with a concerned-looking Graham.

"What's this all about, Balim?" the soldier asked as he took a seat. Numair flicked his Gift out to cover the doors and windows again.

"It's your brother."


	24. Chapter 23: Nighttime Admissions

**Here's a funny story: I thought I'd already updated this chap, until about a week ago. Um, whoops! Sorry! Hmm. Anyway, on with the story!**

**Thanks once again to all of you who have been kind enough to review. You have no idea how much I appreciate it, and although I know I've been slow with updates, and I totally don't deserve them, I really, really do love them! Please, keep 'em coming!**

**Totally and utterly not my own. (Other than Abigail, Lachann, Ùisdean, Tormos, and Graham. Think that's about it. And the plot.)**

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Chapter 23

You're making my mane wet, the pony said patiently, although Daine knew her well enough to tell that she was as upset as her. She wrapped her arms tighter around Cloud's neck and buried her face.

"Daine?" Lachann was standing in the doorway. "Sweetling, what's wrong?"

She scrubbed her face hastily and cleared her throat. "I've asked Balim to take Cloud back to the Palace. It's not fair that she stay here any longer."

Lachann's hand pressed the small of her back gently. "You're right."

Cloud snorted. I don't want to spend much more time with you either, Smeller.

"Cloud," Daine began warningly.

"What does she say?" Lachann said with interest.

"Only that the feeling's mutual," she said hastily. "She's looking forward to being back at the Palace."

The soldier patted the pony's neck. Cloud turned round to lunge at him and Daine pushed him back just in time. "You promised you'd behave," she reminded her.

I promised I'd behave with whoever it is that's taking me back to the Palace, not him.

"Don't be difficult. We don't have the time." To Lachann, she said, "What are you doing out here anyway?"

"Ùisdean asked me to ready Tormos and Graham's horses whilst they pack."

"They're leaving?"

Lachann nodded as he led Graham's gelding from his stall. "Bound for the north, apparently. Ùisdean didn't say why, but he did say that there would be a new healer with us when it's our next rotation here, so I think it's permanent."

Her fingers curled in Cloud's mane as she watched him brush the horse's sides rapidly, before laying a blanket over his back.

"It's really war, then."

Lachann nodded grimly, hefting the saddle into place. "Seems like it. Have you heard about the riots? Abigail was telling us that she'd heard rumour of them in the market place yesterday."

"It wouldn't be the first time," she replied. "Do you want a hand?" He nodded. "If people think there's something to be scared of, especially when they think that the Gods are against his Majesty, then maybe they think they can gain the Gods' favour and protect themselves by disobeying his rule."

"When instead all it gets them is a squad or two of the Own and company of infantry descending on them," Lachann said drily. "Land confiscated, farms sown with salt and death by hanging."

She turned to look at him as she cinched Tormos' saddle. "Are you all right? You sound funny."

He shrugged, though it didn't dispel the uneasy expression on his face. "Nervous, I suppose. I've never been to war before. The other's talk about the kraken as if it's just some beast that can be defeated. Tracking bandits and chasing off the odd herd of hurroks is one thing, this is another entirely. Suddenly I'm caught in the middle of it." He hesitated. "My father's estate is on the coast. I'd do almost anything to protect it. He writes that they've seen Carthaki warships on the horizon."

"You need an actual kraken to get rid of them."

"He says the Tortallan navy is scattered everywhere along the coast."

Daine shrugged. "I don't know much about naval movements. Where is your estate anyway?"

"Two days ride from Pearlmouth. It's not that we're not used to Carthaki raiders, but it's different now. It's an entire army. They could land anywhere."

She bent down so that he couldn't see her face as she checked the stirrups. "But didn't I hear that Second Company is posted all along the southern coast? Not to mention the army and a few Rider squads. They'd be there within the day if they did." Whilst she said it, she wondered how it was that the Carthakis had managed to get their toehold around Legann. "Besides, you'll manage better if you don't spend your time in battle worrying about your home. It does no good to get distracted like that."

He smiled as she stood up. "You're right. They'll be fine. I know it. Ready?" She nodded, handing him the reins, and he led both horses outside.

Swiftly, she fitted Cloud's bridle. "I'll miss you, Cloud," she whispered as she worked.

Don't do anything stupid, the pony told her sternly. If you want, I can bite that king stallion of yours for sending Kitten away.

Daine laughed. "The one with the beard and the blue eyes?" she checked. "Just don't let him know I agreed to it then. You'll see him before Numair or I will, I'm sure." She allowed the pony to lead her outside, and hitched her reins to those of Balim's mare. "Behave for Balim, and for Onua, and don't go nipping whoever gets closest to you in the streets."

"Let's go." The sergeant mounted Whitemist, and Daine gave her pony a final hug, only letting go when someone tapped her shoulder. She let Lachann wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her back slightly to allow the horses to pass. As she patted Cloud's flank, she caught sight of a troubled-looking Graham over the mare's back. His eyes were fixed straight ahead, his face set.

Numair was standing in the doorway of the house, his expression equally grim. He managed a stiff smile when she caught his eye, though she could see his eyes flick to take in Lachann's arm around her and away again before he turned back into the house. She frowned for a moment at the curious look on his face. She'd thought, when she told him that she wasn't interested in Lachann…"Oh, for _Mithros'_ sake!" she hissed to herself.

"What?"

She shook her head, shrugging Lachann's arm off. "Nothing," she said distractedly. "See you later." Daine didn't wait to hear his reply as she hurried inside. She tapped on Numair's open door and walked in without waiting for an answer to find the mage leaning on the table over the house model.

"What's wrong?" When he didn't answer, she prompted him. "Numair?"

He shrugged, his body rigid. "To be honest, magelet, I'm quite simply furious."

"You seem to be hiding it quite well," she said lightly, disguising her nervousness at his reaction with offhandedness. Stepping closer and laying a timid hand on his back, she realised the truth; he quivered with suppressed tremors, and when he spoke, his voice shook with agitation.

"From the results of my last outburst, I decided it prudent to hold my tongue."

She snorted softly. "I did say that Lachann –"

"Lachann has nothing to do with it," he burst out. Daine stopped, taken aback. He pressed a hand to the model, his Gift rippling around it in pools of light and dark. "I'm sorry Daine. I didn't mean –" He shook his head vigorously. "I didn't like to say earlier in case I upset you more, but I just cannot believe the King's audacity. Sending Kitten away without even giving us the chance –" Catching sight of her face he stopped again, and lowered his voice. "Sorry."

She was silent for a moment, trying not to think about the unspoken ending of his sentence and what it implied. She made herself smile instead. "If it helps, Cloud offered to bite him for us."

The mage laughed softly, turning to face her. "I admit, it does. I fear I don't give your pony enough credit." Two long fingers lifted her chin, and he searched her eyes, assessing. "Nor you. That was a brave decision you took, allowing Cloud to go back to the Palace. Selfless. If only I had your courage of conviction." Daine blushed, forcing herself to take a step backwards, and Numair glanced away again, swallowing heavily. "Though perhaps it's best I did not," he said finally. "Otherwise I might meet an untimely end on Traitors' Hill."

She giggled. "As long as Cloud doesn't. Can horses be tried for treason? Or do you think I'd get the blame, for encouraging her?"

Numair smiled. "His Majesty probably thinks that I'm the one that's been whispering seditious sentiments in her ear. Mind you, if that horse is evidence of anything, it's that animals have their own minds. I'll miss that."

"You'll miss Cloud threatening to eat your clothes or bite you?" she asked innocently.

His eyebrows quirked knowingly. "Surely that is a sign of her freewill and her refusal to bow to anyone's demands. Including yours," he reminded her.

Daine laughed hollowly. "What use is wild magic when all that happens is your horse is too stubborn to obey?"

"What use indeed?" The man stepped back, scrutinising her face. "You must miss her."

"She's not even in the Palace yet."

"You're avoiding the question," he said firmly.

She shrugged helplessly, not managing to find the words she needed.

"Oh, sweetling," he murmured, moving forward and pulling her into his arms. She couldn't quite make out what he said to her then, the words barely discernable over the rumble they made in his chest. All she was aware of was his hand stroking her hair, the damp fabric pressed against her cheek and his familiar, reassuring smell. "Magelet, you'll see her soon," he said in an undertone to her. "And Kitten. If Jonathan has sent her north, he must know that we won't let her be there for too long without us. She would barely behave for anyone but you anyway. At least one of us should be there for her."

Daine shook her head forcefully against his chest. "I don't want to go to war without you," she said in a small, scared voice.

"You won't magelet. You won't."

_

* * *

_

_War. _The thought of it terrified her witless. She had been through bandit attacks, sieges, and she knew she'd do anything for the country that had given her a home, but that didn't mean she couldn't be scared, surely? The thought of what could happen to all of her friends… Alanna had already been injured and was still recuperating, the King's Own were sustaining heavy losses, and Rider Groups were scattered across the country, no doubt suffering the same. Graham had gone north, his brother grievously injured in a hurrok attack. Daine knew it must be bad if they were giving his family members leave to visit him. Tormos had left because the Own needed every trained healer they could mobilise.

She turned over, pulling her blankets tighter around her against the chill night air. And now Cloud was gone. It had been Daine's idea for her to go, but that didn't mean she didn't regret it, and she missed her pony more than anything. More loneliness. Her chest and stomach tightened uncomfortably.

Daine stared at the wall for some time, willing herself not to think any more, willing herself to go to sleep, trying to relax. It wasn't working though, she knew that. Poor Kitten was leagues and leagues away, further than they'd ever been apart before. She must be terrified. Kit was only little, after all, and even if Tkaa was with her, that didn't mean she wouldn't be scared. It didn't mean she was safe.

She got up, dragging her covers out from under the mattress. They were too constricting, cocooning her so tightly that she could barely move her legs. It was bad enough she was trapped in the house as it was, she didn't need to feel enclosed in her own bed. Dim light shone round the shutters and across the ceiling. What time was it anyway? She'd heard the midnight hour being called some time ago, and she'd been in her bed for almost an hour before then.

_Sleep_, she told herself firmly. She cleared her head of thoughts, determined. Regulating her breathing as she would in meditation, she closed her eyes, relaxing a set of muscles at a time. Just as her mind began to drift, there was a fluttering noise overhead and suddenly she was wide awake again.

"In the name of the Horse Lords!" she groaned loudly.

A book. She'd read a book. She knew exactly the one too; the several-hundred page volume Numair had given her yesterday that had almost put her to sleep in the middle of the day. If that didn't send her to sleep, she didn't know what would.

Downstairs, it was almost pitch black, though to her cats' eyes, it was little obstacle. There was one source of light in the hall though; a flickering glow crept from under Numair's door and across the floor.

Before she could think, she tapped his door softly. There was a scuffling inside and a murmuring voice. Oh Gods, what if he was in there with Abigail? What if she'd interrupted them? If they were… She suddenly felt nauseous. "Hang on," came Numair's voice from inside.

She could make a dive for the study, pretend that he'd imagined it.

_Too late_. The door opened to reveal Numair, shirtless, hair mussed and a crease imprinted on his cheek. "Daine?"

She stared at his knees. "Sorry. I thought…"

"'You thought'?" His voice was amused.

"I heard you talking. I'll leave you to it."

"I was reading," he explained. "I just found a particularly interesting paragraph on the metamorphosis of humans into immortals. Did you know it was possible for humans to become Stormwings by stabbing themselves with a Stormwing feather? I wonder if that is what Lord Rikash intended to trap Ozorne into in Carthak." He paused, and frowned. "Did you want something?" He put his hand under her elbow and drew her into the room, the fire springing to life as he led her to a chair. He disappeared for a few seconds, before reappearing and pushing a blanket into her arms, and sitting down in the chair next to her with another for himself. He shrugged into it and looked at her expectantly when she didn't do the same. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I just… I couldn't sleep."

He smiled at her understandingly and gestured at the blanket again. "No sense being cold though."

As she wrapped it around herself, she gave a slight sigh. It was warm and smelled of him; how on earth would she sleep now? She should've ignored the light, gone into the study and hauled the book upstairs.

"What's troubling you, magelet?" His voice was soft and concerned.

She shrugged.

"Let me guess, then. In short order, Kitten, Cloud, and the war. You're worried about friends, about how we'll manage, and of course, the never-ending desire to escape this run down, Gods-forsaken, cage of a house."

Daine snorted drily. "Well, the animals in the Royal Menagerie have more space than we do!"

"Quite. As I remember it, it's largely down to you that that's the case." He studied the hem of his blanket. "You're very persuasive, magelet. I maintain that the next time we speak to Jonathan, you should be the one to attempt to convince him to let us go."

"Numair," she said flatly, "from the way it sounds out there, I don't think there'll be anything left for us to get out to."

"It's not like you to be so pessimistic Daine."

She huffed. "Where's your optimism been for these past months, Numair?"

He looked at her squarely. "You." Daine blushed and Numair glanced away; she echoed the movement. The mage cleared his throat. "I mean, I don't think I've ever properly thanked you for helping me so much. Now that I'm more in the position to…" he trailed off.

"It's not a problem," she eventually murmured.

He leaned towards her, his expression intent. "You've put up with so much though. I can't even begin to imagine what it's been like for you. I've been in some foul moods too."

Daine smiled, determined to relieve some of the tension in the room. "Well, it's not like you didn't have those before." An outraged noise came from the mage's direction and she giggled. "It's true."

"This is the last time I ever say anything heartfelt to _you_, magelet. Apparently all that happens is that I get insulted."

"I'm sorry. I mean it though; there's not much I wouldn't do for my friends."

"That's what worries me," he murmured quietly.

She turned to face him. "What's that meant to mean?"

He sighed and shook his head. "Nothing. I mean – if anything happens to me when we get out, you mustn't come running to me. You have to keep yourself safe first."

"Do you think something will?"

"Ozorne won't give up, wherever we are," the mage said grimly.

"Then you have to promise the same." Her voice was quiet and determined.

"What?"

"You have to keep yourself safe too, then."

"Daine, I can't do that."

"Then you know that I can't either."

"Daine –" he began softly, but shook his head. "We will leave this debate for another time, when most of the house isn't asleep." He stretched and settled back into his chair. "I fear that if I angered Abigail any further, she'd have my head."

"Why? What have you done?"

Numair shook his head. "It hardly bears talking about, magelet."

She clicked her tongue, forcing her voice to remain cheery. "I'm sure that all you have to do is charm her again and she'll fall straight into your open arms."

The mage blushed. "When I told you not to worry about Abigail and me, I meant it, Daine."

Getting the feeling that conversation was distinctly not welcome, she said, "I know when not to pry."

"No," he shook his head slightly, refusing to meet her eye. "There aren't an Abigail and me to worry about."

"But –" His head shook again and she broke off. "I'm sorry," she said eventually.

Some measure of the elatedness she felt must have shown in her voice. "Why is it exactly you find her so exasperating?" Numair's voice sounded casual, but Daine had known him too long not to sense the current of sharpness that ran underneath his light tone.

"I don't. I quite like her, actually."

"You never used to," he accused.

"She's grown on me," she said truthfully. "I still don't think – it's not that I don't think she likes me, but sometimes I'm not so sure."

"Why ever not?" Numair was shocked.

"She's perfectly nice to me," she hurried on when Numair would have interrupted her, "but sometimes I get the feeling that she's watching me, especially when I'm with you. I don't think that she likes how close we are."

Numair swallowed heavily, and Daine could see him working to compose his thoughts. "Perhaps she didn't," he said eventually, giving her the distinct impression that there was something that he wasn't telling her, or that she had missed. "But as I said, it is no longer a concern."

"She worries about you. She's forever asking about whether you're happy, so whatever you did can't be that awful, Numair."

He made a vague noise. Eventually, he added, "Abigail's concerned about you too. She tells me I should do what's best for you, but I think she and I disagree on what that is." Daine raised her eyebrows. The mage shook his head in response. "Don't worry. I'm not about to turn your latest suitor into a tree, or anything of the sort. I won't be prying where I'm not welcome."

She rolled her eyes at him. "I don't see why you have to decide what's best for me when I'm perfectly capable of deciding on my own."

"Of course," he murmured. "As I said, I won't be meddlesome any longer. I think you've proved recently how able to handle yourself you are."

She shrugged his compliment off. "If she's concerned about me, then that doesn't explain why I think she doesn't always like me."

"For the same reason that you don't always like her, I'd assume. I've discovered over the years, often to my detriment, that it is a woman's prerogative to change her mind." Daine made a face at him and he smiled before his face became serious once more. "She _is_ trustworthy though, I can assure you of that."

"Can you though? Rikash said we weren't to trust anyone but each other, remember? I don't think she's a spy for Ozorne, but I don't think anyone else here is either. That doesn't mean that one of them isn't."

"Take my word for it, Daine, Abigail is not Ozorne's 'well-placed' source. I'd trust her with my life, and what's more, I'd trust her with yours. Don't forget, if she wanted to, she could have poisoned us all months ago – us and the guards. Abigail is not the one we have to look out for."

"Then who is?" Daine asked.

"I don't know, magelet, I just don't know." Numair sighed, scrubbing his face with his large hands as he thought. "We can be reasonably assured it's not Kaddar. Lindhall would never have trusted him if he hadn't been entirely sure of him, and, much as I prefer not to admit it, he has been nothing but honourable in his conduct in the past. It would be a particularly elaborate hoax on Ozorne's part, although I can't deny that would probably appeal to him." He shook his head. "Of course, it may not even be anyone in the house at all, but someone who talks to those who are. Assuming that's not the case, though, that leaves us, essentially, with a member of the Own, which is an even worse thought to contemplate."

"Waiting for the right moment."

"Indeed." He shook his head grimly. "Lord Raoul will not be happy."

"That's an understatement."

"I think that for sanity's sake, it would be best if we placed our trust in his decisions, but remain vigilant."

Daine snorted. "Otherwise we'll just worry ourselves and see shadows round every corner."

"Quite. Has that reassured you enough?" His serious expression was betrayed by the glint of amusement in his eye.

"Yes, Numair, I feel quite relieved now that we've come to the conclusion that if Ozorne has a spy in here and not just in Jonathan's chambers, it's one of our guards. I'll sleep so much better."

He grinned. "I'm glad I could put your mind at ease, magelet."

* * *

Morning light shone through the window, catching dust particles in its wide beam. Numair had watched that beam creep further and further into the room, knew where it first touched the sill, the wall, the floor, knew every crag and crevice that it didn't reach, every shadow it cast. He knew all this, because since Daine had fallen asleep in her chair, he'd barely dared breathe, let alone sleep.

He'd watched how that light changed around her, dulling the warm golden firelight, and casting a weak, silvery glow about her. He'd taken advantage of the moment to study her for a while, noting the light dusting of freckles, the quirk in her right eyebrow, the stubborn line of her jaw and the way the corners of her mouth turned down slightly when she slept. One hand supported her head, the other clutched tightly at her blanket. One knee was against her cheek, her other leg curled around her. Three bare toes protruded from the bottom.

His mind too had wondered, and he allowed himself to consider the questions that he barely dared think about in the daylight. What if he told her? What if she felt the same? What if she loved him too? Could they be happy together? Could they overcome the problems they faced; age differences, court gossip, the war?

He had been shaken out of his reverie and back to reality when he had heard Abigail come downstairs at dawn and begin her daily work, and then by the change of the guards. His mind had turned to grimmer thoughts of the matter at hand. How would they explain to Abigail, Kaddar, and the guards why Daine had slept in his room, why they would emerge at the same time? How could they convince them that it had been entirely innocent without seeding doubts and suspicions in their minds? How could he stop word getting around the Own of their apparent closeness? And if it reached the Own, then it wouldn't be long before the Riders and the Army knew, and from then it could spread through the Palace. What had he done? He should have woken her up and sent her upstairs. He could have carried her, even!

A weak voice roused him from his thoughts. "Have you not slept at all?"

"Some," he lied.

"What's on your mind that _you_ couldn't sleep?" she asked. She shifted in her seat, revealing a bright red cheek from where she had been leaning on her knee. "What's wrong?"

Sleep-filled eyes studied him. Her oddly penetrating stare bore into him and Numair breathed a silent curse. How was he to keep this up?

Three months of this had gone past. Three months of _lying_ to her, to himself, a loud voice in his head said. He had convinced her to tell him the truth about her, about what she was feeling, and so far it had backfired spectacularly.

"What's wrong?" she repeated. "Is it to do with Abigail? I'm sure, Numair –"

"It's not Abigail," he assured her. "It's nothing to worry yourself about. Even I'm not, not really."

"You're sure?"

He forced himself to smile and stood up. "Look at me, Daine. I can walk again unaided and unhindered. I can climb stairs. Gods grant it, I can even run again. I'm better than I've been in months. What could possibly be wrong with me?"

Her eyes assessed him; she shook her head, her expression sad. "You don't need to pretend with me, Numair," she said eventually. "I'm not going to tell anyone."

He opened his mouth to reply, but words failed him.

Daine seemed to realise this, and instead of pressing him for an answer, stood. "What should we tell them?" She nodded towards the doors.

"What do you mean?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Numair, I know you. You'll be thinking about my reputation and all that nonsense."

"Just an experiment," Numair managed. "With bats. An experiment with bats."

When they did emerge from his room, Abigail met them with raised eyebrows. Numair felt his face colour and looked away; Daine, on the other hand, in her typical style, raised her chin defensively and managed a smile. "Breakfast," she decided aloud, "and then I'm for bed. I'm exhausted. It's all very well making me study nocturnal animals, Numair, but I don't think you remember that the next day, neither of us are much use for anything until we've slept."

He followed her lead gratefully. "Perhaps in the future, you should avoid expressing such interest in the habits of bats in cities. Then I won't make you."

Daine, helping herself to porridge from the pot and filling a bowl for Numair as well, missed the look that passed between maid and mage. One was full of disbelief, the other guilt. It took Numair a moment to realise that, in fact, he hadn't done anything wrong.


	25. Chapter 24: Exposure

**Another chapter for you. Thanks once again to all my kind reviewers, and I suppose to you too, Bladvak the Long-Winded. I appreciate all your comments, I really do, and I know I say this every chapter, but it's true! (Oh, and I suggest, if you've forgotten it, to reacquaint yourselves with a conversation pertaining to trees back in Chapter 22. Of course, you wouldn't have to if I didn't let myself get so distracted! Damn life.)**

**Daine, Numair, Ozorne, Kaddar, and Alanna are all the creation of the one, the only, Tamora Pierce. I just like to get them out and play with them from time to time. **

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* * *

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Chapter 24

"Would you stop squirming?" Numair told Daine for the umpteenth time since she had announced that someone was on their way to them under half a bell ago. He sat back down, having just allowed their mysterious visitor on the unknown horse to pass through the protective shield. "It's incredibly distracting," he said as he skimmed his current text, searching for where he'd left off. "You'll find out who it is in a few minutes. Patience, magelet."

Over the top of his book, he saw her stick her tongue out at him. "I apologise," she retorted, her tone in no way sincere. "It must be such an inconvenience for you, my wanting to find things out."

Numair sighed theatrically. "You have no idea." Returning to his large tome, he scrawled down some interesting points he'd found on defensive shields, and possibilities for adapting them so that allies in possession of certain charms would be able to pass through them unhindered without the necessity of a mage to alter it for them. He glanced up again from his reading as someone entered the room, and smiled broadly. "Alanna! What a pleasant surprise!" Daine jumped up to greet her friend first, clinging to her in a long hug. She shot him a guilty glance as she released the knight and he realised she'd known all along who was coming. No wonder she'd fidgeted so. The mage snorted a soft laugh and stood up to kiss Alanna on the cheeks, welcoming her embrace.

The knight smiled, though there was a curious look in her violet eyes that was almost assessing. "Daine, do you mind if I have a word with Numair in private? It's just a magical matter."

Daine shrugged, and Numair could feel a knot of dread growing in his stomach as his student left the room, closing the door behind her. Why would Alanna want Daine out? Unless it was a serious matter. Had something happened? Something that could only be passed verbally, or physically? He braced himself for bad news, feeling his body tense in apprehension.

As soon as she had gone, the knight turned to him. "Numair, what's this?" Alanna handed him a small package, a grim expression on her face.

"Is it –" he broke off and waved his hand at her, a flash of glittering magic accompanying the movement.

"You tell me," she replied forbiddingly.

Expecting some strange and dangerous magical object, Numair opened it nervously, his Gift primed. Inside lay one of the most realistic portraits he had ever seen. It captured Daine from the determined glow in her eyes to the stubborn curl of her hair. He lifted his finger to gently touch the porcelain oval, intending to run his finger over its smooth surface and trace the line of her face before a sharp cough drew him back to reality.

He cursed under his breath and composed his face.

"Explain," Alanna said drily.

"It's for a focus," he told her, wrapping the disk up quickly before shoving it roughly into his belt purse.

"A focus?" she repeated. "You don't _need_ a picture for a focus."

"No," he conceded. "But it makes it easier."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm no green mage, Numair, fresh into training. It's a completely unnecessary addition that has no effect on the working at all."

He cast around for an excuse. "It helps me to visualise," he told her weakly, trying not to wince at the lie as he carried on boldly. "I took the idea from the miniature that I gave Daine for Midwinter. Ozorne may use some of Daine's possessions that she lost in Carthak as a focus, so there may be a need to protect her quickly – or retaliate."

She folded her arms, her face set in her determined way. "So that's why you were looking as if you've just found the love of your life?"

Numair felt his face tighten and his hands clench. Before he could control his reaction or hope to conceal it though, she gasped. "You have, haven't you? You've fallen in love with Daine!"

"Not so loud!" he hissed. He didn't want the whole house knowing. Certainly not Daine.

"I notice your lack of denial," Alanna pointed out as she sent her Gift to seal the room. Numair made a face and began to walk back and forth across the floor. There was no point denying anything to her, and they both knew it. "I take it you haven't told her, then?"

"No," he agreed. "And you won't either."

"Far be it from me to spread rumours." She sat down, eyebrows raised, watching him as he paced. "So when did all this happen?"

Numair sighed. "At Midwinter."

"That long?" the Lioness exclaimed softly. Her voice would have sounded pitying if he'd allowed himself to think it.

He nodded grimly. "I tried to stop it, but I can't help feeling the way I do."

She tilted her head to one side, fiddling with the ember stone at her neck. "Numair, you can't stop love. If you feel it, then you feel it. It won't just go away at the blink of an eye." Suddenly, she laughed wryly. "Trust me, I know. I tried to stop being in love, and it doesn't work." The Lioness folded her arms and stared at him shrewdly. "What about that argument you had?"

"Which one?" he muttered before Alanna glared at him. "It was mostly my fault. I'm informed it was down to my propensity for hypocrisy and general irrationality."

She snorted. "That sounds about right. What happened? Do I need to hear much more than what Daine wrote to me?"

Numair frowned and shrugged. "Not really. There's not much to tell. I – I may have warned off one of her friends – suitors, I suppose – in the Own in a manner that she didn't deem at all necessary. I also –" he hesitated, not wanting to see her reaction to his next words. "I told her that Kaddar was only interested in seducing her, to stop moping about whilst her guard friend wasn't here, and that he was intent on sex."

Alanna raised her eyebrow. "Irrationality seems a bit of an understatement, doesn't it?" Numair didn't answer. "It's amazing what the mind can do to cover up what the heart wants, isn't it? You're quite sure it's genuine? Not just some fleeting fancy of yours?"

He nodded grimly as she considered him. He knew her approach towards love – that it wasn't something to be taken lightly – and that she had disapproved of his attitude to sex in the past, so he was almost relieved when she nodded finally at what she found.

_Almost_. "It's not right," he told her firmly.

"Who said love was ever right and fair?" She chuckled at the expression on his face. "Numair, there's no need to look so panicked. Let it run its course." She stood up to stop the man as he paced, catching his arms and holding them firmly. "You might be pleasantly surprised."

"I will not capitulate to these feelings, Alanna!"

"Is that what you think love is? Capitulation? _Surrender?_"

He changed tack. "What if it isn't? What if I'm mistaken?"

"If you are," she said deliberately, "you're more stupid than I thought."

He crossed his arms in annoyance. "Thanks ever so for your words of advice, Alanna. I'll remember to come to you next time I need to seek counsel upon matters of the heart."

She sighed heavily. "Moments ago you were convinced, Salmalín. Knowing you, you've probably spent the best part of the past few months deliberating over it." The Champion gestured towards his belt purse. "Especially if you had time to order a miniature from Volney Rain." She raised an eyebrow, her expression piercing. "If I didn't know you better, Numair, I'd say you were scared."

In the brief silence that ensued, they both knew that she had pinpointed one of the reasons he refused to tell Daine. Numair brushed past it, changing his approach again. "I'm her _teacher_!" he hissed.

Alanna shook her head. "And? You're also her friend." She led him to a chair and forced him to sit. Gently she placed one sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "Tell her," she urged simply.

"No! I can't." He hated the pleading quality his voice had assumed. He swallowed heavily and tried to remember all the logical reasons he had compiled over the months since Midwinter. "She's my student. As her instructor it is my duty –"

"Numair, stop talking about your duty as a teacher," she said sharply, cutting him off. "Think about your duty to her as a friend. Wouldn't she want to know? What if she feels the same?"

Numair shook his head. "She won't. She can't. She already has someone she likes. She told me herself."

"And what if that's you?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You haven't spent any time with her in months," he pointed out irritably. "What position does that put you in to predict her moods and feelings?"

"You're right," she replied, apparently unfazed by his outburst. "That's why you're in the best position to know."

"Sorry." He met her eyes, and he knew he couldn't hide the fear he felt as he whispered quietly, "I can't lose her friendship, Alanna, I just can't."

Alanna was silent for a moment, and Numair didn't think he liked her air of sympathy. Finally she stood, patting his shoulder gently. "And you won't." She crossed the room to the table and began to leaf through the book Numair had been reading when she arrived. "She's pretty," the woman commented softly as she flicked pages.

"She is," Numair nodded, tensing in his seat. He should've known Alanna wouldn't have allowed a change in subject so quickly. Persistence was one of her virtues, or failings, depending on whether you were on the receiving end of it.

"Not in the conventional way, but she _is_ very pretty."

Numair snorted. "Nothing about Daine is conventional."

"No," she agreed, nodding her head slowly. "But I'm sure that's part of the attraction."

Numair knew prying when he heard it. He shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.

"She'll have no problems finding a husband either, looking as she does," Alanna said quietly, glancing up at him. "I've seen more than a few men at Court give her a second glance."

"Don't you think I know that?" he hissed.

Violet eyes studied him closely. "Very easily."

Numair wondered exactly what kind of reaction Alanna was trying to push him into, or conclusion to leap to. "I don't need reminded of that, Alanna. I've seen them too; even half the men here. I –" he broke off and sighed. There was little point discussing it, he decided. He would only torment himself more, and in the process gain even more pity from his old friend. "How's the injury coming along?" he tried eventually.

Automatically, Alanna clasped her hands behind her back and pulled upwards, wincing at the crack of muscles. "It's getting there," she replied. "I don't heal nearly as well as I used to. Anyway, don't change the subject."

The mage scowled. He hadn't expected it to work anyway.

Alanna pushed on. "What if she does find someone else? What will you do then? Just sit back?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "No. I don't know. I couldn't." He sighed. "I'm not ready to lose her to some gallant knight or some such yet. It's been hard enough to adjust to this – new development."

Alanna nodded consolingly. "Numair, if you told her all this, you might not have this problem."

He shook his head vehemently. "No. If I told her –" he broke off, searching for the words. "If I told her," he began again, "she might feel obliged to stay with me, because she might want to save me pain. She's such a loyal friend, she might sacrifice her own happiness for someone she cares enough about. She might trap herself into something unwillingly because she has some feeling of debt to me, or loyalty owed, because I've been her teacher all these years." He shook his head once more. "And I think it would hurt more to know she was doing that for my sake than it would to see her find happiness with someone else."

"Do you think she would?"

"She has very strong ideas of loyalty," he pointed out.

"Surely that's a good thing."

He made a face. "This is the problem with discussing loyalty with knights and their oaths. She's loyal to a fault. It isn't _always_ good, Alanna. Especially when it involves sacrificing love and lifelong happiness for the sake of a friend."

"And she'd sacrifice her life for you. She's shown that already," the knight pointed out.

Numair nodded grimly. He was silent for a while, before reaching down to run his fingers over the scars at the top of his shin. "I can't threaten each of her suitors away either," he said practically. "So a young, gallant husband for her it is."

Alanna slapped his hand away. "Leave them be. She won't find one immediately, you know, Numair."

He shook his head. "She won't. She doesn't want to – she even told me as much. The Great Mother grant me that wish, for now, at least. Can we – can we talk about something else, please? How are George and the children? Is Aly still intent on becoming a spy?"

Now it was the knight's turn to sigh and shake her head despairingly. Seeing her reaction, Numair allowed some of the tension in his shoulders to dissipate. "I swear that girl is set on sending us both to an early grave. And George is no better, encouraging her as he does. Last week, he took her to meet one of his Carthaki agents in Pearlmouth, which ended in a scuffle with some Tyran merchants who blamed the Carthaki for their lack of trade recently, and them having to fight their way out. It's lucky they haven't made it back yet, because I have a thing or two to say to my dear husband, and none of them are 'welcome home'."

* * *

Two days after Alanna's brief and, as far as Daine was concerned, unexplained visit, the young woman was woken by the pounding of war drums in the air. The house ate breakfast in silence, the noise becoming gradually more and more oppressive. Finally Abigail got to her feet, beginning to clear the plates from the table.

"Look at us, sitting here working ourselves into a panic," she laughed nervously. "It's not as if we're not safe under here."

Daine and Numair exchanged glances as Ùisdean responded, his normally calm voice angry. "Perhaps it's because we're worried about what will come and what happens already. Perhaps it's because we're scared for our family and friends."

"Do you think I don't have family out there that I worry about?" Abigail retorted, her voice an angry hiss.

"Then why joke about it?" the soldier demanded.

"Because sitting here fretting is going to do us no good at all!"

That afternoon, the sound of wagons rolling in and out of the city increased. The streets seemed to fill with people who were rushing about their business; many passed with arms filled with food supplies. Squads of soldiers patrolled the streets, and the sound of marching feet and hooves was almost constant. The hive of activity outside the building made the quietness inside it seem all the less bearable to Daine.

"They must have made further inroads," Numair murmured to her when Kaddar left them alone for a moment.

"Maybe they've just mobilised another regiment," she said hopefully, although she knew that wasn't the case.

Numair's raised eyebrows indicated that he knew it too. "Troops must be spread throughout the countryside now, for them to be using the drums. I wish I knew what they meant!"

"What do you think –" She broke off as Kaddar came back in.

"Are you ready to go on?" Numair asked the Prince smoothly.

Kaddar nodded. "Where are we? Ogres next?"

The anxious mood of the house turned into increased frustration as the week continued. She and Numair were both chomping at the bit, even more impatient to get out of Golden Wood and into the field. All day they could hear the wagons rolling, the soldiers marching, the cheers of crowds as they watched the brave young men and women leave the capital to defend their homeland. Trumpet calls and their answers joined the drums, and the screeches of message birds flying to and from the Palace drifted past in the spring breeze. The rest of Tortall was preparing for war, and they were just… sitting. Static. Stagnant.

Never had Daine felt more useless, and never had she seen Numair more agitated. Much of the time, the mage could be found by the window in his room overlooking the street, reading and fidgeting, his attention focused on watching the road for signs of movement; for messengers, she supposed. He dedicated most of his time, however, to drilling her and Kaddar endlessly on different types of immortals, their strengths, their weaknesses, even their previously known alliances. Kaddar received practical lessons too, practicing defensive shields and attacking spells. Many times, the men of the Own joined them for their lessons. Their combined knowledge of field medicine was refreshed, and, strangely for Numair, discussions on battle tactics held. Even stranger, Numair had taken to reading the works of military strategists, fidgeting anxiously as he did so. Daine had considered stopping him – he seemed simply to be agitating himself more each time – and had even 'misplaced' one or two of the volumes in the study, but she knew that he was just trying to prepare himself for what was to come; trying to prepare her. Time and time again, he stressed what she was to do if they became separated, if one of them was injured, if one of them - expressly him, in his lessons – _died_. He reiterated his plea to her, and she her response.

"You _mustn't_ linger, Daine. If I'm dead, then I'm gone. It won't be a simulacrum; it won't be like Carthak when I can come back, unless I tell you otherwise. If anything happens to me, I don't care what, _you_ _must run._ Get to safety rather than try and come back for me. You must promise me."

"Only if you'll do the same for me."

The mood amongst the Own was similar. They talked of friends in other squads leaving to fight in the war, the Riders and Regulars that they knew. They spoke in hushed voices about the Kraken, cleaning and polishing their unused weapons. At dawn, the house would wake to the shouts and ringing clangs of weapons training in the courtyard. Slowly but surely, the mass recruitment that the Own had done began to show itself in the house as the more experienced and trusted soldiers were posted out to the field. There was one rotation where Daine hadn't known a single guard, and of Ùisdean's squad, only he, Lachann, and two others remained. The rest were all relative newcomers, though she recognised some of their family names as those of prominent merchants or minor nobles.

News of the war itself had almost petered out all together, and they received little word from the Palace. Abigail began to take more frequent trips to the market to discover what she could amongst the traders and old friends in the Rogue. There was word of an uprising here, a Stormwing attack there, plague in the south, then the east, and then none at all. The Own had won a battle on the border and prevented a Carthaki invasion through Tyra, then Carthaki regiments had been spotted on the Great Road East. Stories changed from one person to another, and eventually Daine stopped listening to them; they only made her more worried, more frustrated, and news of actual events muddled and confused. News of injuries and fatalities began to filter through as well, making events all the more distressing. The Seventh Riders had lost one, Third Company had lost fifteen in a battle against winged apes, and one battalion of infantry had been decimated by a combined force of Stormwings, hurroks and centaurs. And then came the worst news of all: Port Legann had fallen.

Surrounded on sea and on land, Carthaki agents had entered in the guise of a food wagon coming through the one remaining open gate. Somehow, their horses had become untethered, and the portcullis had, by some means, been closed with the cart underneath it. Left open, the enemy forces outside had managed to breach the gate and overrun the town and castle. Quartered inside were a few regiments of the Own, two Rider groups and a small detachment of infantry; their fate was unknown, and war was officially declared.

* * *

Daine had a sick, nervous feeling in her gut; one that had been present since she decided she would ask him this in the middle of last night. They were alone, for what felt like the first time in days. The sun had long since set, and the study was lit only by a few candles and a mage globe, hung low over the table. "Numair," she said slowly.

He glanced up at her, giving her a small smile.

She tried to ignore the sudden thrill in her stomach; it did very little to help with her current nausea. "Can I ask you something?"

He placed his quill carefully on the paper, ensuring the ink would not mark his work, and pushed it away. "Of course."

Daine took a deep breath, and made sure to ask her question slowly and clearly, forcing it out before she could stop herself. She didn't think she could repeat it. "What's your favourite type of tree?"

He tilted his head in contemplation, and Daine knew he was actually considering the question. She could see when the sudden understanding hit him; he jolted his head back and his mouth opened slightly.

She felt coldness flush through her as she waited for a response.

"Are you sure you want to ask that question, Daine?"

There was something impelling in his eyes that she knew was asking her to be sure, and something else she couldn't quite make out.

"As I can be," she answered.

He hesitated. "I'm not sure it's suitable for me to answer that." He leaned back in his chair, one hand pulling his nose. Daine knew he was thinking hard, although she wasn't sure she wanted an academic, well thought-out answer to _this_ particular question. "It's not suitable for so many reasons, and I'm not sure I deserve to be asked. Not by you."

His response took her by surprise. Whatever reaction she had been expecting, it wasn't that. "You don't 'deserve' to be asked? By me?"

His hand hovered on the tip of his nose. "Not really, no."

Daine could feel confusing growing inside her even as she felt dread flowing hotly through her icy veins. "Why?"

He grimaced. "I don't think we should be having this discussion, Daine." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I _really_ am."

Daine broke eye contact with him, staring intently at her book instead. She pulled it closer to her and tried to focus on the text and hand-written notes. She heard Numair sigh once more, and the scratch of his quill began again. After a few moments of silence, he quietly said, "I quite like the Rowan myself. Especially at Beltane when it's flowering. It is the apple tree, however, that provides my favourite fruit."

Growing up the life she had, Daine knew her plant lore well. Rowan, a sacred tree, to protect, which decorated houses at every major festival, "especially at Beltane," he'd said, his possible allusion to which did not escape her notice, and apples, the fruit not only used to predict future loves, but to indicate interest in another. She could swear she was blushing to the ends of her hair, and the letters in front of her swam before her eyes, but his writing never faltered.

"Have you finished the section on wyverns yet?"

She scattered sand over her notes as he spoke. "Done," she smiled tentatively at him.

He glanced up at her, his face colouring as he met her eyes, and looked back down at his page immediately. "I think you should call it a night then."

He didn't want to talk to her? He didn't want to confirm or deny her thoughts?

"Right," she said, her throat tightening, as she stood. "I'll see you in the morning then?"

"Good night, Daine," he said softly. As she reached the door, he called, "Daine." She stopped suddenly, all too aware of her heart pounding in her chest. "Sleep well, magelet."

He hadn't even turned to look at her. "You too." She hurried out of the room before she lost all control of her emotions. She clearly had of her head.

* * *

It was a troubled sleep Numair had that night, his head still reeling from Daine's question. Did she honestly mean… Could she? For a moment, he'd allow himself to sink into the fantasies that had filled his mind for months, until he would become convinced that he had imagined it all. He drifted in and out of sleep, thoroughly occupied by the situation that had presented itself into the evening. If he noticed any more movement throughout the house than was usual for the middle of the night, he assumed the guards were restless, and even permitted himself to entertain the thought that Daine could be just as preoccupied as he.

Shortly before dawn, he heard a soft scrabbling in the hall. Assuming it was Abigail, up for the morning already, or the guards changing shifts, he thought nothing of it, instead stretching and then shuffling for a second until he was comfortable again.

He woke up when something very sharp and very cold pressed against his throat.

"Wakey-wakey, Salmalín," a sneering voice instructed.

Eyes taking a moment to focus, he took a sharp breath. The one who had spoken was a mage, who Numair knew had been in the house for little more than a week. The other, the one holding the knife…

"Lachann."

Lachann shifted uncomfortably, the knife pressing closer against Numair's throat. "Get up," he ordered, his voice less than convincing.

Where his tone failed though, the dagger succeeded. Numair sat up slowly, incredibly aware of the sharp itch against his neck. "What do you want?" He was aware of his heart thumping in his chest, and blood rushing past his ears, but tried as much as he could to remain calm. Overriding almost all this, though, was shock. He hadn't liked Lachann, and yet he hadn't expected this. He thought it was simply because of his closeness with Daine that he disliked the man.

The mage was far more forceful than the young soldier's. "Take the shield down." He gestured at Lachann, who pressed the knife so tightly to his throat that Numair felt the skin tear. "Don't try anything, because my friend Lachann here will kill you before you can utter a word."

"I won't." Numair put enough of a tremor into his voice to make it believable, and, instead of suppressing nervous shaking, let it show through instead. If this mage had anything to do with Ozorne, he would've been told that Numair wasn't capable of much defensive magic anyway, and it would only be to his advantage to let his assailants believe it.

As he stood, he racked his brains for information on the mage. When he asked the man about his training last week, he had been told that he was a northerner who, like Numair, had studied at the Imperial University in Carthak. Kaddar had, of course, recognised him, which Numair now realised was simply a convenient corroboration of his story. Not liking the Emperor's stance towards the north, he had left before the peace conference and returned to his home country of Tortall without completing his mastery. Joining the Own six months ago as a competent war mage as much as a soldier, he had been delighted at the prospect of guarding the famed Master Salmalín himself, and looked forward to learning from him at every possible opportunity. Or so he'd told Numair, anyway.

Now he cursed himself for every kind of naïve fool. Maybe Ozorne was right; perhaps he was too trusting, too passionate about magic to allow himself a moment's thought. The minute he was provided with the prospect of sharing knowledge and learning more, he forgot Rikash's warnings and allowed himself to be swept along in his own enthusiasm. He had fallen straight into Ozorne's trap. Worse, he'd let his jealousy of Lachann to prevent him from truly assessing the soldier.

The strange mage was distracted. "What's this?" Before waiting for an answer, he wandered over to Numair's table. The scrolls Numair had been reading the night before were still there. "_You_ have Thangi's Shield spells?" he asked incredulously. "The shield that can't be counteracted?" Then his face broke into a grin. "My Emperor will reward me finely when I present him with this. You won't be able to break through any of our defences. We could protect the entire army, and attack from inside it."

Numair tried not to acknowledge the nauseous feeling in his stomach at the thought of the risk that would bring to the Tortallan armies. He wouldn't have to worry about that, because the mage wouldn't be getting out to take them to Ozorne. He needed to think clearly, to make a plan, _not_ to panic. "Can you take the knife away, please? Think how disastrous it would be to have gone to all this effort, only to accidentally kill the only mage capable of removing this shield. And you know that I am, because I explained the theory of it to you only yesterday." _Fool_, he levelled at himself again.

The Carthaki made an impatient gesture, and returned to reading the scrolls. Lachann lowered the dagger warily, allowing Numair to move again.

Standing over the model of the house, black, sparkling Gift flowed around Numair's hands. Once again, Lachann pressed the blade to his neck. It dug into the base of his throat. Numair tried not to swallow too deeply. The young soldier looked uncertain and nervous; it clearly wasn't him that was in charge.

"Daine told me about your family," he murmured.

He could feel the man shaking next to him. Numair prayed to Mithros, the Goddess, to anyone who'd listen that it wasn't anger. _Please let it be fear. Let it be regret._ "I don't see what that has to do with it."

"She told me how much you love them. She told me that you'd do anything to protect them."

The soldier hesitated for a moment. "I wouldn't hurt her. Not if I could avoid it."

His stomach clenched. "Please tell me –" he broke off and closed his eyes for a moment. He needed to concentrate on the matter at hand; as much as it pained him, Daine wasn't it. The Carthaki was still engaged in his find, making delighted noises as he uncovered more. The mage decided not to think about what information and magic he could find in there. "You don't have to do this, Lachann."

The man gave a soft, desperate laugh. "Do you think, if I had any other choice, I would be?"

Numair made a few meaningless gestures with his hands over the model, his voice a quiet murmur that could easily have been the words of a spell. "We can find a way to protect you; just put an end to this now."

"It's too late!" came the hissed reply. "Daine told me what it was like for you, on the run from Ozorne for years. Or what else? Would I stay locked in a little house like this one, unable to leave? The King might as well put me in a cell and leave me there!"

The crescendo of his voice roused the strange mage from his reading. "What are you talking about?" he enquired suspiciously.

"Your accomplice here is reminding me of my disabilities and the many activities that I am incapable of doing."

The knife pressed closer into his throat and Numair winced. "Hurry up, you cursed mage," Lachann growled loudly. "The sooner you're finished, the sooner we can get on to your _lovely_ student upstairs."

Hope surged in Numair's chest. Daine was, so far, safe. "Are you certain?" he whispered.

"My father's land will be sown with salt for his traitorous son. My brothers will be mocked and forever under suspicion, for something that was my mistake and not theirs. What option do I have but death?"

Numair hesitated, his hands faltering in drawing their pretend runes. "I'll speak for your family."

The knife at his neck shook. "Thank you."

"Hurry up, Salmalín." A hand tinged with yellow Gift clamped firmly on his shoulder. Heat emanated from it, but Numair couldn't shift from under it without risking impaling himself on the knife in front of him. It was only so long before the pain began to burn, and he knew he would have very little option. "Now, Salmalín."

The knife at his throat pressed sharply, the stinging intense. "Do it," came Lachann's steady command.


	26. Chapter 25: The Hunters

**Ahh, the wonders of being a student again. Books, lots and lots of books, (disappointingly not one of them fictional), and absolutely no time to myself. (This isn't actually a complaint, btw.)**

**Anyway, this return to uni means that there is less time for **_**Concealed**_** again, which you probably couldn't tell, considering the dearth of updates in the past year of not being a student. Nevertheless, here I am with a nice new chapter. I am so, so sorry about how late it is!**

**As always, I'm really, really grateful for all your reviews, (I know I haven't replied to any of them in ages, sorry!) and they really do encourage me to keep going with this.****So please, if you really like it, or you really don't, let me know! And if you're going to favourite it, I really do appreciate a little review too! ******** Thanks.**

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Chapter 25

"_Do it_," Lachann urged again in a low, insistent growl. Numair released his truth spell; there hadn't been a flicker of doubt in what he had said. For the briefest of seconds, Numair met the soldier's eyes and they exchanged the smallest of nods; one accepting the other's decision, the other defeated yet steadfast in his will. The burning agony in Numair's shoulder from the mage's spell was to such a degree that he knew he couldn't refrain from acting any longer.

He took a deep breath in preparation, closing his eyes as he pulled his Gift to the surface. Everything in the house seemed silent, though he knew it wouldn't last for much longer. The knife left his throat. Simultaneously throwing up shields to protect himself and the structure of the house, Numair allowed the model to explode spectacularly, blowing both Lachann and the Carthaki mage off their feet and across the room. For a moment, the whole house seemed to rock, before Numair came to his senses.

"Lachann?"

The soldier was lying prostrate by the wall on the opposite side of the room. Blood pooled around his head, and trickled from the corner of his mouth and ear. His eyes were open, but to Numair, seemed glazed and lifeless. Glancing over his shoulder, Numair could see the sorcerer on the other side of the room. He too was lying on the floor unconscious, and seemed to have tipped over a chair in his fall. Rushing to the soldier's side, he pressed two fingers to the man's neck.

Nothing. No pulse, no breathing. Sticky blood marked the spot where Lachann had collided with the wall. The sound of yelling and the beginnings of a scuffle outside did not distract Numair as he knelt next to the man. His skull must have fractured on impact. Casting around for the dagger Lachann had held, he found it protruding from the soldier's back. Numair could only guess that his hand had hit the wall before he did and he had stabbed himself. Traitor or no, the mage murmured a prayer to the Black God as he wiped warm, viscid blood on his breeches.

Hearing a noise behind him as he did so, Numair's shield flared into existence just before the Carthaki sorcerer's spell hit it. Turning and getting to his feet in one swift movement, Numair faced the man.

"They warned me you were soft-hearted. I never would have believed it, but now I see you fawning over the body of a man who betrayed your country and attempted to kill you. Pathetic." The man grinned humourlessly. "This should be easier than even Hadensra expected."

"Don't do this," Numair warned the man as he began to advance upon him. "Don't make me do this. You'll regret it. You will."

In reply, the mage flung a ball of fire at him, chuckling. A crash and a yell from the kitchen got Numair's attention as he caught the ball and threw it – enhanced with his own Gift – back at the mage, reminding him that it wasn't just him that was in danger.

A speech spell flared into existence in the room above him, next to a sleeping young woman.

"_Daine!_"

* * *

She could have sworn she heard someone calling her name, but Daine wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't part of her dream. Floating somewhere between sleep and consciousness, she wondered hazily whether it was real. A sudden crash from downstairs pulled her out of her daze. Her body tensed, and she jumped out of bed, pulling her breeches over her night clothes, her points half tied when she heard a yell. Pausing only to string her longbow and grab her quiver as she hurried out the door, she wished bitterly she had her crossbow with her; this would be awkward at close quarters. Kaddar wasn't far behind her.

"Daine, what's happening?"

"I don't know," she answered over her shoulder as she leapt down the stairs. Halting on the landing, she took in the scene below her. Yellow magic was fighting for supremacy over Numair's black and white Gift, as if shadows fought to overcome daylight. Next to her, Kaddar scrabbled for the sword that he didn't wear. "Use your Gift," she hissed.

As Numair, seemingly engrossed in his battle, advanced on the mage in the hall, she watched in horror as a man dressed all in brown entered from the kitchen, daggers in hand as he moved towards the tall mage.

"Numair!" she screamed. Not even bothering to take aim, she pulled an arrow from the quiver she wore and shot the stranger once, twice, in the throat and the chest. He fell before she even had time to process what she was doing.

The mage had been distracted when she had shouted for him, his opponent's magic creeping up on him. Now he moved forward, shielding their battle from Daine. Normally she stayed away from his battles, but she could hardly tear her eyes from them as Kaddar disappeared into the kitchen. She could hear the sounds of fighting from beyond, but paid little attention as she fired at another man that had forced his way through the kitchen door. Another appeared from the guards' room as she swung her bow up. Before she could shoot him though, a member of the Own bowled into his side, crushing him against the wall with a knife pressed to his throat before he could attack. He was swiftly disarmed and bound.

"You don't want to do this," Numair informed the man. Over the noise of the fight, she could pick out the tinge of pleading in his voice.

"On the contrary," his adversary said, raising his hands as a swirling ball of flames grew from between them.

"It would be a waste if you were to be killed in this," her friend warned him.

The sorcerer laughed, and simply clapped his hands in reply. The flames dissipated, and for a moment, all fell silent.

A flash of yellow mage fire temporarily blinded her. It had circled around Numair and was rising above his back. She scrambled to get a clear view of his opponent. "Numair, _move_!" she yelled.

Her friend jumped out of the way as the magic leapt for him, disappearing before it hit him. Now she got a proper look at him, Daine gasped as she realised who it was: Matthias, one of the new guards, who had seemed so friendly to her and so in awe of Numair. She didn't have more than a second to contemplate this revelation though. The flame flew at her now. She could hear Numair shouting as calmly she released two quarrels, and then dove round the corner for cover. The flame lashed at the wall of the stairwell, and she waited for it to vanish before she took another shot. Her arrow burst into flames as it hit Matthias' shield. What she needed was for Numair to spell her bolt, but there was no way she could reach him now without coming closer to their foe.

"That," Numair panted, "was your final chance."

His black fire expanded to fill the hall, blocking the doorways from the other rooms. Daine knew this was as much to prevent further interruption as to protect the others in the house. She also knew that Numair would try and close her out of the fire if he could.

The mage walked backwards, a swathe of magic curtaining him and Daine from view. One hand was before him, as far as Daine could tell, holding his veil in place as it drew glittering runes in the air. The other was at the small of his back, palm outwards and fingers signalling her with his plan. His hand too was shimmering; she handed an arrow to him as Matthias assaulted Numair's shield. The mage muttered a few soft words, and passed the arrow back to her, accompanied by one simple command.

"Hide."

The mage moved forward once again, all the while hand-signalling his intent to her. She let the arrow fly when Numair dropped his screen. She watched anxiously, another arrow half-drawn back, as the spelled bolt plunged into their adversary's shield. It seemed to slow for a moment, almost halting as it passed through the solid wall of flame, before she heard Numair yell something.

A blinding flash and an explosion knocked her from her feet and threw her back against the wall, forcing the air from her lungs as colours flashed before her eyes, a result of her head smashing against the wooden panelling that lined the stairwell. Black and red danced in front of her before her vision returned. Blinking to try and regain her sight, it cleared to show someone standing over her. _Oh Gods_, she thought, fumbling weakly for her belt knife only to realise it wasn't there, _this is it_.

"Daine," a voice said concernedly, striking a chord in her battered mind. "Daine," it repeated, a hand reaching out to clasp her shoulder and pull her upright. "I'm sorry, magelet; I didn't mean it to be quite so large. Are you all right?"

She scrunched her eyes closed. "No," she mumbled. Her head rang and she started to shake it in the hope of clearing her ears of the noise, only to stop, wincing, as it grew worse.

"Here, I've got something." At the pop of a vial being opened, she came to her senses, struggling away from her captor.

"I'm not smelling anything," she told him, pushing herself to her feet. She swayed slightly, and again those strong hands braced her, held her as she regained her sense of balance. Touching a hand to the back of her head, she felt something wet and sticky; looking in confusion at her hand she realised it had come away red.

"You're bleeding!" Numair exclaimed. "Come on," he ushered her down the stairs, hands firmly gripping her shoulders. "Into my room."

She could hear the sounds of fighting still raging beyond the spelled kitchen door. "No," she pulled away from him.

"Daine, you need to be treated."

"I need to help the others." Her bow lay shattered on the floor, smashed by the explosion. It was no use, she thought, ignoring the dull ache in her head. She would have to shapeshift. "Open the door."

"You're no use to anyone if you're concussed."

"I'm not," she assured him impatiently.

"How do you know?" he demanded. "You're not going out there."

"I am," she snapped.

"I could forbid you," he said sternly. "I could seal you in here so that you can't go through."

"But you won't. It'd be a waste of power, time and energy just when you need them all most."

He sighed, scrubbing his face with his large hands. They were stained red, she registered suddenly, and his loose cotton breeches were smeared with something dark maroon. In the shape of Numair's handprints, she realised belatedly. The same red was sprayed faintly across his shirt. "Goddess, don't do this to me," he murmured softly, his voice muffled behind his hands. Finally he looked up at her, crushed her briefly to him, muttering something she couldn't quite catch, and then released her, raising his hands in readiness to reclaim his Gift. "And you're right, of course. Ready?" he asked.

"What's that?" she asked, gesturing at him.

Instead of answering, he repeated, "Ready?"

He turned his back on her as she loosened her clothing, pulling off her nightshirt entirely before transforming, taking on the shape of her pack mates. The metallic tang of blood was in the air, and seemed to emanate from the mage's room, convincing Daine even further that she wouldn't be confined in there. When Numair turned back around, a large, growling timber wolf faced him.

Tentatively he reached out his hand to the large beast. It sniffed him, nuzzling his hand softly, before pushing its large head into his hands and forcing him to stroke her more vigorously. He allowed himself a small smile, and then frowned as he saw a damp red patch behind the girl-wolf's ears. It only became clearer in this form the extent of Daine's injury.

"Are you sure?" he asked her, sinking into a crouch so he could look into her eyes. "Asking you to 'please don't' won't make the slightest bit of difference, will it?"

She sneezed her agreement, her breath coming in a _whuff_ of air across his face.

"And nor will saying I wish you wouldn't." Another exhalation was his answer. Sighing, he turned and reached for his Gift, pinching the form it was in until it flowed back into his body. Immediately Daine bounded for the door, disappearing into the kitchen beyond. "Safe hunting magelet," he whispered. He gathered himself before following her into the fray.

* * *

The scene that greeted Numair when he entered the kitchen was one of chaos. It was almost enough to persuade him to force Daine into his room and seal her in. Pushing down his fears for his student, he looked for the place where he would be most use.

Abigail had produced several vicious-looking knives from somewhere, and was fending off a man in brown who looked vaguely intimidated by the ferocious appearance of the normally genteel woman. Numair watched in astonishment as she got close enough to rap the man on the temple with the pommel of a knife, rendering him unconscious. A layer torn from her petticoats served to bind his wrists tightly behind his back, and then she turned to find herself another adversary.

Kaddar was backed into a corner, battling against two men. A pale green fire surrounded him, flaring every time his opponents' weapons came into contact with it. The cool green wove itself around one man, binding him tightly and rendering him immobile. Numair took the opportunity to pull the other man away from Kaddar, using his Gift to propel him across the room and pin him against the wall. The magic smothered all but the man's head, and would leave him there until Numair deigned to lift the spell. Kaddar dropped his shield briefly, allowing Numair to slip behind it and grasp his hand tightly. Together their magic swirled, creating a strong shield around the pair, black that sparkled with flashes of green.

"Thanks," Kaddar murmured. "My war-magic skills aren't up to much."

"Well, I'm hardly renowned for them either," he informed the younger man, sharing a small smile with him. "Have you ever tried the Golden Net?"

The prince shook his head.

"Then now's the time to learn. It works very much on the same principles as your rope spell." Channelling their combined Gifts, he spoke the incantation that wove the Net, strands of magic interlacing closely. Allowing it to drift into the courtyard, Numair and Kaddar followed it outside. "Those three there," he said quietly to the younger mage, gesturing with his free hand. The Net draped over Numair's intended targets, three men who had surrounded a member of the Own who was discernibly on their side, and tightened rapidly, restraining the men effectively.

A yell from the other side of the courtyard caught his attention. Four or five more of the enemy advanced on Ùisdean and his second. The two soldiers were back to back, swords and miscellaneous knives bared, but Ùisdean had just taken a blow from a club to the knee, and was leaning on the other man, unable to move or put any weight upon his leg. A third member of the Own dashed over to help them, but more strangers entered the small court.

"Can you hold the Net?" Numair asked the younger mage urgently. "I need to reinstate the shield, now."

Kaddar shook his head. "But that'll stop your men coming to help!" he pointed out.

"It'll stop more of your uncle's men coming to kill us too," Numair retorted. "Can you hold it?"

He barely registered Kaddar's answer. He had already transferred control of the spell to the Prince and broken the connection. Taking off at a run and throwing up a shield around himself as he did so, he skirted round Ùisdean's attackers and stopped at the perimeter of the property. Four more men were walking quickly up the street and towards the house. One man's eyes alighted on him. For a moment, they stood stock still, staring at one another before the soldiers broke into a run. Numair cursed, the need for urgency increasing all the more.

He sent a cloud of his Gift in their direction. Black fire that flickered with specks of light surrounded and then congealed around them at a word. Numair allowed himself a satisfied grin as his spell took effect, their movement confined by the air that had apparently thickened around them. In the passage to the courtyard, Numair threw up a Wall of Power. It would prevent altogether the entry of any other soldiers to the house, be they Carthaki or Tortallan, but, Numair thought wryly as he raced back into the courtyard, if the morning had proved anything it was that appearances could be deceiving.

* * *

The wolf crept through the house, smelling, listening. She would scour this house of strangers that came to hurt her pack. She missed her pack; the hunt was lonely without them around her, but she was used to hunting alone, or as a pair. Wolves weren't made to stay in one place so long, wolves weren't made to sing alone.

She filtered through the smells; everything was tinged by fear, metal, and blood. Gardenia was Abigail; polish, sweat, and yew was Ùisdean; sun and heat and oily myrrh could only be Kaddar, and soap and spices was Numair. He would sing with her, she thought, he was her pack.

Scratching from the right: mice; tapping and a flutter above, the birds. _There_. A shuffling upstairs, a strange scent on the stairs. She crawled upwards, her body low to the floor, careful to step where the wood wouldn't creak. On the landing, she could hear breathing to her left – in Kaddar's room. She crept along the ground, ears pricked forward, tail straight behind her. The door was open; crawling towards it, the wood creaked underneath her forepaw. She cursed to herself as inside the Prince's room, the breathing sped up. The element of surprise was gone, but perhaps…

She leapt into the room, vaulting over the bed and whirling to face her foe, who had positioned himself in the corner. He was young, obviously caught by surprise at the prospect of facing a wolf instead of a human opponent, and was armed merely with a long knife. She hesitated long enough only to register it and the fact that she didn't want to let him get the opportunity to attack her with it, before she began to move towards him, lips curled back and snarling, fur bristling and tail erect. Making herself as large as she knew how, she advanced on the soldier. He swallowed, and brought his knife up, its tip wavering as he trembled. Daine howled, then launched herself at him.

As she had hoped, he yelped, dropped his knife and jumped for the door. She let him get there first, and chased him out of the room. He stumbled and fell, coming to rest in a quivering heap on the half-landing. Alighting neatly beside him, she growled loudly and began to advance on him again; he scrambled to his feet and jumped down the final few steps before running into the kitchen and out of the house.

Quickly she completed her search of the house, avoiding only Numair's room which smelled too strongly of blood for her human side to be willing to investigate, and then slipped out of the house and into the stables. Despite her warning, all of the horses reacted with fright, and it took her a moment to reassure and calm them before they could tell her that no one had come in. Pausing to once again comfort them, she slipped out and back into the main battle.

* * *

In his brief absence, between Kaddar and the Own, six or seven of the strangers had been subdued. Abigail, meanwhile, had come outside to help, the house apparently cleared of their foes. Daine had trapped one in a corner, and was crouched low, ready to pounce, growling angrily at him. If the soldier hadn't been out to try and kill them, Numair would almost have felt sorry for him; again he utilised his Net spell, binding the man to the wall where he stood. Daine shot a vexed glance at Numair, obviously deprived of her fun; she snarled once more at the man, who cowered in the corner in response, before she turned to join the effort to capture the two remaining men.

With the men distracted by the advancing soldiers, the wolf snuck unnoticed towards them, crawling low along the floor behind them, until, choosing her moment, she leapt for the sword arm of one nearest her. Grabbing the gauntlet the man wore in her mouth, she shook vigorously, releasing his arm and yipping triumphantly when the soldier dropped his sword. She dragged her prize out of reach. For a moment, Numair thought – hoped – she would stop there, having disarmed one and leaving just a few weapons between the two men. She trotted over to him, the sword in her mouth, and dropped it at his feet, panting happily.

"You stupid, stupid girl," he said admirably. "Stay here, I'll fetch my cloak for you to change." He turned away and then hesitated. "And for Mithros' sake, _don't move_." Quickly he trotted inside to find the garment; however, on his return, cloak in hand, he stopped dead on the threshold of the building. Daine hadn't listened. She had rejoined the guards, and was moving towards the two men, ears laid flat and teeth bared.

"Daine, _no_," he managed, but if she heard his quiet protest, she showed no sign of it. Instead, she did the opposite.

Daine leapt for the remaining armed man, aiming again for his sword arm. The element of surprise gone, he was ready for her. From somewhere, the man produced a knife, and in a movement almost too fast to see, he slashed at the wolf; the other man kicked out at the same time. She fell to the ground with a yelp, blood already colouring her fur as she pulled herself to her feet. Snarling her anger, she leapt again, this time coming into contact with a wall of Gift that the attacker threw at her. She was flung across the courtyard, landing with a disconcerting thud.

At some point in this brief moment, Numair had dropped his cloak, his hands raised to his face in abject horror and despair. Now, his Gift had collected around his hands, and he too joined the advance on the intruders. Casting his magic out as a net, Numair flung it at the two men; his anger making his magic so strong it seemed almost tangible, it hit the men with more solidity than he had either expected or intended, pinning them to the wall.

"Daine?" Abigail's voice broke though his concentration. "Daine, wake up." Glancing round, he despaired at what he saw. Daine had lost her wolf-form, and was lying on the ground in a tangled heap, a mess of blood, curls and bruised skin, limbs flung in different directions. She didn't seem to be moving.

The knot of dread in Numair's stomach grew, his chest tightened and he couldn't quite seem to breathe. "Great Mother Goddess," he whispered, "_please_."

"Daine?" Abigail was sounding louder, more panicked as she shook the young woman's shoulder, patting her face.

Numair's dread overwhelmed him, and his grip on the two men tightened. The Giftless man clawed at the invisible net, the magical bonds across his chest crushing him. The mage, poorly trained and with a weak Gift, put up a feeble resistance against his spell, though to Numair, through his rage and fear, it felt like little more than a tickle.

Abigail's urgent voice continued to pierce through his single-minded fury. "Come on, sweetheart."

Ùisdean's voice joined Abigail's. "Is she breathing?"

_Mithros, Mynoss and Shakith, no!_ Numair lost his grip on the magic, and the two men that had attacked Daine vanished.

There was a long silence in the courtyard. Finally, a timid hand tugged on his sleeve. "Numair?" Kaddar was shaking him. "Are you all right?" The Prince's question confused him. Why were they asking him? It was Daine who was lying on the ground, covered in blood, limbs at odd angles to her body – was she breathing? Had Abigail said? Please Mithros let her be breathing. Please Goddess, grant this one blessing.

He didn't realise he'd said any of this aloud until Kaddar murmured in reply, "So mote it be."

His hands covered his mouth as his eyes closed against the scene before him, waiting for, dreading even, Abigail's prognosis. His ears were roaring as a result of the large quantity of magic he had used, and his heart thudded loudly in his chest. He was vaguely aware of Kaddar sitting down on the ground somewhere behind him, and Ùisdean giving orders to his men as they cared for the survivors of both sides.

"Give me your cloak, Numair," Abigail called from Daine's side.

_Oh Gods_. She was going to cover her over. "Of course," he murmured numbly. He looked around for it helplessly before one of the Own pressed it into his hands. His fingers fumbled with the fabric as he shook it out, then used his Gift to carry the material to the maid and young woman. He couldn't move any closer to the pair; he didn't want to be one of his last memories of his love to be her beaten and battered body lying on the ground, covered in dust and blood. He didn't think he could live with that. He was having enough trouble trying to stop his mind from putting the image into his head as it was. He turned around, hoping that putting his back to the pair would force the images to leave him.

"She's coming round," the maid's voice broke through the angry buzzing in his skull.

"What?"

"Can you stand?" he heard her say quietly, with a familiar answering murmur. Surely…

"She's alive, you silly man," Abigail's tone was unusually sharp as he spun round. The maid was helping an unsteady Daine to her feet, the young woman firmly tucked under Abigail's arm. His black cape was clutched tremblingly around her with bloody fingers, making her white face seem almost ghostly, and Numair could just make out the silhouette of one arm hanging limply at her side. Abigail released her slowly, ready to catch her if she fell. At first the girl swayed, but then she seemed to regain her balance. It was then she looked up into Numair's face.

"Oh Gods, Daine, I thought they'd killed you." He stumbled over to her, cupping her cheek in his hand.

She smiled tiredly. "So little faith," she tutted.

"Not in you, magelet." _Never in you. _Before he could help himself, he pulled her into a tight hug, needing to know she was safe and well. Though she could only use one arm, she returned it with equal ferocity, her hand gripping the collar of his shirt, fingers clenched in his untied hair. He breathed in her animal-musk-and-soap scent, the coppery tang of her blood strong in her hair, and nuzzled her neck, needing to be closer still. He was aware that he was holding her off the ground, and that there was a high possibility that the wetness he could feel against his shoulder was her tears. He could also feel her trembling within his arms, and he was fairly confident that he too was shaking.

Not letting her go, he shifted his grip so that he cradled her in his arms and carried her past the questioning stares of Abigail and Kaddar into the house, taking her through to his room and kicking the remains of the door shut with his foot. "You and I need to talk," he told her hoarsely.

"Not now," she whispered. "I can't –"

"Shh," he murmured. He couldn't help but press his lips against her hair, needing to know, to feel for himself that she was mostly unharmed. He knew he shouldn't be, but another voice was ferociously demanding that he do so, and he couldn't help but comply. It was all he could do to resist kissing her fully. Bringing his hand up to run through her curls, he glanced around for somewhere to sit and caught sight of Lachann's body.

"Not here," he murmured, and turned, heading for the door again.

"Why? What's –" she broke off, obviously having seen the dead soldier. "Let me down." Numair released her gently and she slid down his body, before going to kneel next to Lachann. "What happened?" she murmured.

Numair crouched down next to her. "It was him, magelet."

Daine tore her eyes away from the corpse to look at him. "What?"

"It was him," he repeated. He placed a gentle hand on her back. "He was Ozorne's source. This morning, Lachann and that mage –"

"Matthias," Daine interrupted.

"Matthias," Numair agreed, before carrying on. "They woke me. Matthias forced me to raise the shield, and Lachann –"

She stopped him before he could complete his sentence, her hand reaching timidly for his face. It wavered slightly for a moment, and then ever-so-gently, so softly that Numair was barely aware of the contact, the tips of her fingers rested on his throat. Tracing the arrow-shape at the base of his neck, her fingers running over and gently tugging at the ragged edges of dried blood, her face seemed unreadable to him. "He did this to you?" she whispered, her voice an unsteady mixture of horror and awe.

Numair nodded, swallowing and wincing at the accompanying drag on the cut. Daine's fingers slid down to rest just beneath the cut on his clavicle, and he forced himself to take a ragged breath and draw himself back under control.

If only she'd move her fingers.

"I'll – I'd –" She sounded furious. Suddenly she shook her head as if to clear it, wincing.

"Come on," Numair murmured, a hand on her shoulder. Helping her to her feet, he steered her out of the room and through to the study, before forcing her to sit and studying her closely. He opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated, very aware of the paleness of her skin. "We should – wait, I think. You need to be cared for, Daine."

"Don't talk non–"

"But I saw, Daine. Your head, and –" he hesitated for a moment, gesturing at her with his hands, "– your arm, look at it, and Mithros knows how deep that cut is. You need a healer."

She peeked inside his cloak, and Numair glanced away. "It's shallow," she insisted.

He ran a gentle hand down her side, plucking lightly at the damp, sticky cloth. "It's deep enough. A healer," the mage decided, standing again. He felt slightly nauseous as he realised he was letting the moment to tell her pass, but he couldn't honestly talk about such matters with a clear conscious when she was in such a state. "And before you argue, I wanted you to stop earlier, and you only got injured worse. Now please, just do this one thing. For me."

She shook her head at him in disbelief, one corner of her mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. "You're a stubborn as Cloud sometimes."

"And you're a fine one to talk."

Daine sat back in her chair with a sigh, smiling – slightly dazedly, he thought – at him. "You win."

Unable to help himself, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "That's my girl. We're going home."


	27. Chapter 26: Unveiled

**After a month of exams and essays and scary things like that, here is another chapter for you. See, look at that. Two in almost a month. I'm almost getting fast again. Ha!**

**As per, the characters and settings are the creation of Tamora Pierce – I lay claim only to Golden Wood, Ùisdean, Abi and Lachann, though I would to Numair too if I could.**

**Enjoy!**

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Chapter 26

Daine was not as well as she'd pretended to be. She barely had the strength to stand on her own two feet, let alone walk, and Numair had had to carry her up to her room. After Abigail had helped her dress, Ùisdean began to examine her injuries, whilst Numair stood uneasily at the foot of the bed.

"The cut _is_ shallow. If you see a healer, you should be able to manage without stitches. As to the arm though." The soldier ran his hand from Daine's shoulder to her elbow; she squirmed in pain. "It's a dislocation, for certain." He hesitated. "I'm no healer, but I know what happens the longer that the joint is left out of place. The muscles will swell up and it'll make it all the harder to push back in. If I get it wrong though – we should wait till we get to the Palace. It's your decision."

Daine bit her lip. Ùisdean's face was pale and clammy, his own injury leaving him clearly in pain, judging from the expression he wore. Eventually, she said drily, "I'd rather we didn't have to do it at all." Her mouth was contorted into a wry smile. "It's not that I don't trust you, Ùisdean, but the Palace isn't all that far away. Healers can deal with it all."

At some point since Numair had sealed the entrance to the house, two squads of the Own had arrived, bringing with them mounts for their return to the Palace, and wagons for the prisoners. Daine's arm was wrapped in a sling for the journey. Typically, she refused the offer of a litter – she was well enough to ride, and they were just being silly, she informed them – but she let Numair lift her up in front of him without too much protestation, and had fallen asleep against him before they had even left the tangle of small alleyways that constituted Golden Wood. Her head lolled until he tucked it under his chin, careful not to press on her wound.

He was grateful for the gentle ride Spots gave them. After six months without riding, it was more awkward than he remembered it, but his placid gelding seemed to be doing his best to make it as easy for them as he could, picking his way around potholes, hollows and drains in the road. Or more comfortable for Daine, anyway, which Numair suspected was truly the case. He couldn't remember Spots giving him so smooth a ride before.

Numair didn't have much memory of their flight to Golden Wood, and besides, he'd been hidden in a litter for the journey. He had seen leaves on the ground then, whereas now, blossom fell from the trees, collected in corners, ridges and pits in the road, swirling whenever the wind picked it up, and floral scents carried on the breeze. The market too seemed different, much quieter than when they had passed through in autumn. The whole of Corus appeared more subdued and wary, and Numair supposed that if word of their fight in Golden Wood that morning had spread throughout the Lower City as it was wont to do, it hadn't helped the sensation of uneasiness that blanketed the city.

Their arrival back at the Palace lacked the fanfare Daine had told him it would have all those months ago. They slipped quietly through a side gate, past stables and barracks, and to the main entrance. There was no crowd of squabbling women waiting to drop kerchiefs in front of him and request dances, not that he missed their offers; instead, they were greeted by a weary-looking Duke Baird and one of his assistants. Numair declined their offer of a stretcher, insisting upon carrying Daine to the healers' quarters himself.

He waited outside whilst they relocated her shoulder. Pressing his fingers tightly into the bridge of his nose and eyes in attempt to distract himself from the noises within, he paced anxiously outside. All of a sudden there was an agonised yell. The crack of pain in Daine's voice was almost tortuous to Numair, although somewhere in his addled mind, he realised it would probably be far more so to her. A short time later, Baird ushered him inside. Daine was fast asleep, her cheeks blotched with red tearstains.

"Mild concussion," the Duke concluded in a whisper to him. Numair pulled a chair across to her bedside and dropped into it as he spoke. "She'll be fine. We need to observe her though."

"She'll stay here tonight?" Numair asked as Baird placed one hand on her shoulder. Using his Gift, the mage watched as light streamed from the healer's hand and sank into her muscles, Baird massaging them gently.

"She will," he confirmed as Numair took hold of her hand. "Head wounds always bleed profusely. It makes them look far worse than they actually are. The relocation seems to have gone well, though there'll be some swelling. She'll need to rest her shoulder for a day or so yet, a week if possible, even with the healing I've put on her. No archery, I'm afraid, and I'd rather she kept it in a sling for the time being, just to prevent her straining it further. The wound to her side is shallow – that won't even need stitching, just cleaning before I heal it. I'll do that after you've gone."

Numair looked at the healer as if he was mad. "I'm not leaving her." His hand tightened around hers firmly, and his other moved to stroke the hair from her face.

Baird gave a slow, understanding smile. "Of course you're not. You know that I need to check you over as well."

The mage was too focused on the young woman in the bed to really listen. "I'm fine," he said dismissively. "Just drained myself a little, nothing more than that."

"The cuts to your throat and face," the Duke listed. "Significant bruising to your cheekbone, and that's just what's visible. There's a large amount of blood on your shirt as well."

He was puzzled. "My cheek?" He patted a hand to it and winced. "I hadn't even realised."

"Then you'll submit to an examination?"

"I've survived worse than a few bumps and bruises in my time, Baird. I just need to sleep and I'll be fine." He glanced down at the bloody mess on his shirt. "It's not even my blood," he said nonchalantly, though it made him feel vaguely nauseous when he began to consider whose blood it actually was.

The chief healer sighed heavily, but a slight smile touched his lips. "Very well, Numair. Though I do wish you'd rest in something other than a chair. We can set you up a camp bed in here, if you'd prefer."

"No, thank you." He leaned back in his chair, ignoring the cramping of muscles he already felt, pushing away the knowledge that it would only be magnified by spending too long seated in favour of his nearness to Daine. "She'd only be worried if she woke to find me stretched out in a bed next to her – she'd think I'd been hurt worse than I actually have."

"Your concern for your student knows no bounds," Baird observed. "Or is she no longer your student?"

Numair felt his face heat. "We haven't–"

"Of course not." Numair couldn't detect any scepticism in the healer's voice, and relaxed somewhat. "You've always been close. Under circumstances such as yours, I would have been surprised if you hadn't grown closer."

"Or further apart," Numair muttered under his breath. More audibly, he said, "She's looked after me well. I think it only right that I save her from worrying about me anymore." He smiled, and added, "Besides, the last time she thought something had happened to me, she tore down the Imperial Palace in revenge. I think the King would prefer it if she left this place intact."

"Quite," Baird agreed. He rubbed his hands together briskly, warming them. "I should heal this cut," he reminded him. "It will only take a moment to clean it. Do you want to –"

"I'll stay," Numair interjected. Daine had done this office for him; he felt he should only return the favour. Besides, he didn't think he could quite bear to let her out of his sight for any length of time.

Almost the moment he had announced his decision though, he regretted it. Baird gathered the ointments he would need to cleanse her wound, rolled Daine gently onto her side, and then slid her shirt up to her breast band. Instantly Numair felt his face colouring, and fixed his gaze on her hand, intertwined with his. The knife had slashed her in a curve from her back, over her rib cage and curving down towards her stomach. She was still and silent as Baird worked, though the strength of the salves he used made Numair's eyes water.

"Did she ever tell you how she got those animal cuts in Carthak?" the Duke enquired as he worked. "They've scarred more than I would've expected."

Numair shifted uncomfortably, changing his grip on her hand. "Not really, no." It wasn't entirely a lie; she had only admitted it was him when pressed, and never in so many words. "There's a lot that I – that I don't remember, and she keeps much of it from me because she thinks it'll concern me too much. She says it wasn't helpful for me to know then, and it's not relevant now, so why worry?"

Baird chuckled. "Stubborn little thing, eh?"

"She is that," Numair conceded.

"Done," the healer announced. Recovering her with her shirt, he laid her on her back and pulled the bed sheets over her. "I put a working on her to sleep for the moment, though that should wear off in an hour or so, and she'll sleep naturally. She should be asleep for most of the rest of the day with the healing that I've placed on her, longer hopefully." He caught Numair's eye. "You should really be sleeping too," he reminded him.

"I will," Numair promised him. "Once she knows that nothing's happened to me, I will sleep. I'll even leave the Healers' wing."

"But only when she does, am I right?" Baird shook his head, a wry smile touching the corner of his lips. "As stubborn as each other then, I see. Rest, Numair. You being exhausted will do no one any favours, as I'm sure you're well aware. I'm to report to the king on her injuries; I trust you'll follow my advice."

It had been a short skirmish when all was said and done, Numair thought as Baird left him alone with Daine. Their first taste of the war had been over in less than two bells, and yet he felt as weary as Daine looked. Smoothing her blankets, he allowed himself a small smile.

"I don't care what you say, magelet," he murmured to her. "I'm not letting you out of my sight again. Not 'til Ozorne's dead and buried and his soul is in the Black God's Realm because we've put him there." As an afterthought, he added, "And, given the choice, I probably still won't let you away from me again even then."

* * *

Abigail was shown into the Spymaster's study with a bow. It was with some disappointment that she found not George Cooper, but a grey-haired, bearded, portly man. She would have to save the choice words she had selected for him for another day.

"Sir Myles of Olau," she curtsied.

"Mistress Wainwright." He rose from behind his desk, and clasped her hand warmly, enclosing it in his two. "I hear you're responsible for several of the captured men today. Captain Ùisdean informs me you fought like a lioness, though being one of George's old friends, I would have expected little else. I must thank you."

"It was nothing, sir." At his quirked eyebrow, she amended, "Well, it was at least what you paid me to do."

"And you did it with some prowess." He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the desk. His eyes sparkled warmly, but she had the distinct feeling she was being assessed. "Now comes the matter of your payment."

The maid frowned. "I've been paid. Every week, mind?" And handsomely too, she added to herself.

"My son-in-law," he said, tapping a parchment before him on the desk, "wrote to me last week concerning the matter. He seems to feel that some extra services were rendered that you need to be compensated for. Not least, acting as a go-between for Master Numair and Mistress Daine in their more – ah, tempestuous moods. And then, as I mentioned, your fighting today."

"It's what George hired me for," she interrupted before Sir Myles could go on, her cheeks reddened. With George she would never have been embarrassed, and indeed, she intended to scold him to within an inch of his life for putting her in a house with a lovesick teenager and her even more lovesick friend. But, dare she say it, she had even enjoyed some of her time with them, and thought she may have made a few well-positioned acquaintances for her efforts, never a bad thing for a woman in service. She couldn't complain too much, she supposed, though George would know none of that. "I won't take another copper bit."

The knight was silent for a long moment, a hand rubbing his neatly-trimmed beard. She remembered seeing this man in the Dove occasionally, scruffy and unkempt, before George's mother had tamed him. A past life. The change suited him. "And what about the work, then? Did you enjoy it? Or, more to the point, would you be willing to put yourself in that position again?"

She cocked her head, interested. "I might be. There would be certain requirements though."

"Oh?" The Spymaster smiled. "We wouldn't necessarily be talking about being in a situation quite like Golden Wood. Perhaps more finding you a position in certain households where we needed information or something – someone, more likely – protected. You would be able to move freely."

_Service with a twist_, she thought. It was true; there was nothing for gossip like being in service, seeing and hearing everything, and being everywhere. "That's not it. Well, partly."

"Do enlighten me, my dear. We will do everything to accommodate your request."

She hesitated, wanting to find a tactful way to phrase her request. "I don't want people like Daine and Numair."

Sir Myles frowned. "With magic, you mean?"

She shook her head, waving his theory away. "No. That doesn't bother me a jot." For a moment, she searched for a better way to say it, and then sighed. "People in love, who don't know they are. I can't stand it."

The Spymaster raised his eyebrow and chuckled. "Oh really? Well, there's an interesting development."

"Not when you've lived in the middle of it," she muttered darkly.

The knight laughed again. "And I assume they know they are now?"

Thinking of how Numair had carried Daine back into the house after the fight, and the way he had insisted on taking her back to the Palace, cradling her in his arms, with her too weary to say otherwise, bestowing kisses and gentle caresses on her all the way almost unconsciously, she sighed exasperatedly. "Well, it's writ large all over his face; if she doesn't work it out now, or he don't tell her soon, I don't want to be around to mop it up."

Sir Myles' face was solemn, but his amusement was belied by his laughing eyes. "Very well. No lovesick couples. Or not, as the case may be. But first, I think a break is in order. You have relatives in the city, I believe?" She nodded. "Stay with them for a week or two, perhaps longer, until I contact you. Say nothing of where you've been, of course, or who you're employed for, but you may mention that you have a position secured with a court family, and starting soon. George or I will write to you soon. There are codes to be learnt of course, but those can wait until you are well rested." He rose, and Abigail stood too. "Thank you again, Mistress Wainwright. I very much appreciate your work. And," he leaned forwards as he offered his hand for her to shake, a conspiratorial expression on his face, "for the information regarding Numair and Daine. I, if not you, look forward to seeing how this develops."

* * *

Numair spent most of the rest of the day in a state somewhere between sleep and consciousness. Although he hadn't been drained, normally after using quantities of Gift as he had done, he would at least have taken the opportunity to sleep. The thought of Daine waking alone made him stay where he was though; he couldn't bring himself to leave her, not even to check on their friends. He hadn't seen Abigail, Kaddar, or Ùisdean since they had returned to the Palace, though he supposed the soldier was being treated by the healers of the Own, and Abigail would likely be somewhere with George, if he was in Corus, or Myles. He didn't have the slightest inkling where the Prince might be; resting somewhere, he supposed, only slightly bitterly, though he didn't know why, in a room befitting of his royal status. Shifting in his chair again, he lifted his feet so they rested on the bed next to Daine's legs, and slumped further down in his chair. He knew if he stayed like this for too long, he'd drift off. Vaguely he told himself he'd move in a minute.

A door opened and closed softly somewhere behind them. "Numair?"

The mage lifted his head wearily, not all that surprised to see their visitor. "Jonathan."

The king sank into a seat on the opposite side of Daine's bed, watching the mage warily. There was a long silence, before he finally said, "Baird says her injuries are all fairly minor."

Numair nodded. "They could have been worse. They could have killed her in her sleep, after all. They could have done it months ago, all the time Lachann was in there."

"Don't," Jonathan said, his voice fatigued. "You were right. I should have moved you long ago."

"Moving us would have made very little difference if Lachann had been moved too."

"Would you rather the whole of the Own had known where you were, then?"

Numair nodded his head pointedly at the sleeping woman in the bed between them and the king lowered his voice. "I should have listened to the warnings," Jonathan conceded as Numair sat up in his chair again, feet on the floor. "I was trying to protect you both though. I did what I thought was best."

"You used us as bait."

"Militarily-speaking, it was the best option. You know how it works, Numair. We thought you'd be safer there, where you were protected, than out here, where we can't logistically supply that." He hesitated, his royal mask slipping away to reveal the tired-looking man underneath. His brow was creased into a furrow, and his hair was threaded with fine silver strands. "I'm sorry."

"It's not me you need to apologise to."

The king sighed. "I will, when she's awake." He sat back, resting his chin on his hand. "Myles has a few questions for you. We need as much information on Lachann as you can provide us."

"Can it wait?"

"His family –"

"His family had nothing to do with it, Jon," Numair said sharply. "I placed a truth spell on him. Not a flicker of a lie. And you've managed to wait long enough before now. You have the names of the few that we know of, and what's more, they're all dead or captured. Lachann was just a scared little boy trying to help his family, who got too involved before he realised what exactly he was involved in. Daine will tell you exactly the same thing. We neither of us even knew him outside of the house. We're not the ones to ask. Besides, neither Daine, Abigail, Kaddar, nor I harboured any suspicions – regarding his employment as a spy, at least – of Lachann. All that we truthfully know I learned this morning, and I have told you that much."

Jonathan stood, obviously not missing Numair's point. "I'll leave you to it then. Tell Daine I'll visit again when she's awake." He hesitated when the mage rose to his feet as well. "You should try and get some rest too, Numair."

"I'm fine here, thank you."

The king gave a twisted smile. "At least tell Baird I tried, then." Without waiting for Numair to reply, he nodded and left, and the mage dropped back into his seat, resuming his grasp of Daine's hand.

"You didn't have to be quite so rude to him, you know."

He glanced down at his friend; her eyes were wide open and filled with reproach. "He didn't have to ignore what we told him for months on end either. And you could have interrupted at any time," he reminded her. Daine rolled her eyes and shifted, wincing as she rotated her shoulders. "Are you all right?"

Her fingers tightened in his. "I'm fine, Numair. You don't need to fuss."

"Very much to the contrary, magelet, I think you'll find. The fact that you are currently resident in the Healer's wing and under observation from the Chief Healer himself, would, to a very large extent, confirm that yes, I do need to fuss."

She smiled, relaxing back into her pillow. "Who ever said your observational skills were lacking?"

He decided not to dignify that remark with a response. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long," she murmured. Her eyes had drooped shut again. "You were telling Jonathan to apologise to me."

"We didn't mean to wake you," he told her apologetically.

She rolled on to her side, curling her body up. "He's right though – the king, and Baird. You need to rest too. Have you even let them examine you?" When he didn't answer, she sighed. "Typical mage."

Crossing his arms on the bed, he leant forwards, resting his chin on his hands. Her fingers sought his face out. Sleep made her bold; she hesitated for only a fraction of a second, before reaching out and gently tracing over the bruise on his cheek. A wince escaped him and she made a smug noise in the back of her throat, her hand shifting to settle in his hair.

He patted her leg lightly. "Sleep now, magelet. We'll talk soon, all right?"

There was no response. After a while, it occurred to him that she had followed his advice, and just possibly that he should do the same.

* * *

Numair woke when Daine did, roused by Duke Baird to test her responses. Baird smiled at what he found. "No adverse reactions," he decided aloud. "You seem to be fine, Daine. I think we'll examine you once more tonight, and then, depending on how you are then, we'll leave you to sleep. I've healed the bruising on your brain from the concussion, so there should be nothing to stop you leaving in the morning."

When the Duke left, Numair heaved a sigh of relief, turning to face Daine. "You scared me today," he accused. "I should have tied you down. Why didn't you stop?"

She had the grace to blush. "I got caught up in the hunt, I think." She pushed herself upright, and arranged her pillows behind her so she could sit comfortably. "Soldiers act a bit like a pack, you know. I think I've learnt my lesson, though."

"I'm glad to hear it," he told her sincerely. "I don't think I could stand – seeing you lying there like that again – I couldn't –" He broke off and shook his head, incapable of voicing his thoughts.

Her face coloured even more when she caught his intense gaze. Numair dropped his head after a moment, unable to maintain eye contact with her as he swallowed a large and uncomfortable lump in his throat. After a long silence, her voice soft and tremulous, she managed to murmur, "We need to talk, you said." Her small hand slid into his line of sight to grip one of his large ones. She turned it over, her fingers tracing over the lines of his palm, before lacing together with his.

He lifted his head to look at her. There was the slightest hint of trepidation in her eyes, but in her own true style, her face was resolute.

"We do," he confirmed eventually, his throat tight. Grasping both her hands tightly, he leaned forwards, looking down at them as he spoke. Just because she was too stubborn to look away, it didn't mean that he was. He cleared his throat. "Things haven't been right between us in a long time, Daine, and I'm sure that's mostly my fault." She began to object, but he carried on regardlessly, almost forcing the words out. "Magelet, listen to me. Veiled conversations about trees are all very well, but they're no use if we don't tell each other what we're feeling."

"I _tried_," she said softly. "I tried, when I told you about –"

"I know," he whispered. "It's my fault. I tried to deny it – how I feel about you – but I can't." His chest was taught with nerves, his heart thudding rapidly as he reached forward, stroking a hand down her uninjured arm as he moved his chair closer to her, before hesitating and shifting to sit on the bed beside her. The thumb of one hand traced circles on her arm, the other smoothed the blanket on the bed. Numair knew they were far closer than they should be, than honour would allow, but for the moment he wanted nothing less. He thought he would always want nothing less. "I…" he tried, but faltered, lost – for once – for words.

Tentatively, knowing he couldn't speak, Daine leaned forwards and gently pressed her lips to his. Numair thought his body had frozen entirely; he couldn't even bring himself to respond until, equally as softly, she pulled back, just a few millimetres, a blush tingeing her cheeks and a questioning look in her eyes. Warm tingling emanated from his mouth to fill his body; his head swam. For a breathless moment there was only silence between them, and neither moved; so much of him wanted to move forwards, the part of him that had wanted to give in to her since Midwinter. The other part, so little of it left, so tired and broken down by his own arguments and the events of the day, still told him to hold back, that it would only lead to more harm for both of them if they followed that path. And yet, _she_ had kissed _him_. Wasn't that exactly what he wanted? To have her – as a result of her own will, and no pressure, placed upon her unintentionally or otherwise on his behalf, forcing her into it – make such a gesture towards him – wasn't that the solution that could remove all of his qualms and worries?

His uncooperative body gave him away. The warring conflict must have been visible to Daine through his eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, pulling back and pressing herself into the headboard of the bed, her cheeks scarlet, her expression mortified. Her gaze was fixed anywhere but him, and he could feel her quivering. "I wasn't thinking –"

It was now or never. He lifted a hand to her face, sweeping her hair back and settling it on the nape of her neck. Numair pulled her towards him, leaning in to her and brushing his lips over hers tenderly. His hand slid down her back, pulling her closer into him as her arms slipped around him. Though mindful of her fragile state, he kissed her with as much of what he felt for her as he dared.

Drawing back only when he felt her trembling within his arms, he released her. For a moment, she seemed somewhat taken aback; she hesitated, her hand tightening on the collar of his shirt, before loosening her grip and slowly leaning back against the headboard. Then she blinked, and the disconcertment vanished; she regained her normal, assured expression. "I was," he admitted, taking her hands again. "Too much. I think I do that too much when it comes to you."

The colour of her face, if possible, had only reddened further, and her hands still shook within his, but her tone gave away little of what she was feeling. "I could've told you that."

He laughed, his elation and relief making him giddy. "Magelet, only you could manage to tease me at a moment like this."

"What?" she said smugly. "If I let you think too highly of yourself, who knows what state your head will get to." Her hand tugged lightly but insistently on his sleeve, drawing him nearer.

"Your concern has been duly noted," he murmured softly. Pressing his lips together tightly, Numair was unable to keep from smiling as he savoured the fizzing sensation in his blood. Suddenly, he frowned. "You're meant to keep that arm in its sling, Daine. Baird will have my neck if he finds out I've been letting you use it."

She sighed with mock aggravation. "Then don't let him catch you." Daine smiled impishly, and when Numair pressed his mouth to hers again, he could still feel the curve of her lips.


	28. Chapter 27: The Appearance of Propriety

**Hello again. I know it's been absolutely ages, sorry! There was a small matter of a dissertation to write and a degree to finish, and then getting the analytical thinking out and the prose-writing back too slightly longer than I thought, as did hammering out the finer details of the remaining plot.**

**To all the readers and especially to the reviewers out there who are still reading this, I can't thank you enough. I know I've been really slow about updating, and it's been months since my last post with no explanation, but I hope you can forgive me that! To say the least, it's been a difficult few years, but with any luck, I'm back now. Trust me (and I know hundreds of authors say this and then don't, but I mean it!), I will finish this. It's consumed too much of me not to! I hope you'll enjoy this, and please, please review to let me know that you have. It really helps to know that someone out there is enjoying this – even if it has been months. And especially to those who reviewed my new one-shot **_**Trick of the Light**_** recently and went "Ooh, more **_**Concealed**_**!" and convinced me that I still had an audience out there! This chp is for you guys, and for Ian, as a slightly belated birthday present. (If you hadn't insisted on going for a Chinese, I might actually have got it out ON your birthday. Or not.)**

**Once again, I disclaim this. The characters within aren't mine, and neither is the setting. I take full credit (or blame) for the ridiculous, novel-length plot though!**

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Chapter 27 – The Appearance of Propriety

Daine was acutely aware that something very heavy was on her leg, and couldn't feel anything from mid-way down her thigh. She had been lying that way for some time, with the scent of medicinal herbs prickling her nostrils and feeling uncomfortably warm under the thick blankets that covered her, but she hadn't dared yet open her eyes to find out exactly where she was, and more importantly, what it was that lay so heavily on her leg. Somewhere nearby there was soft snoring that she recognised from far too long trapped in the same house with its cause.

That sound stirred something in her mind and made her blood fizzle warmly. She surely hadn't dreamed – she couldn't have, could she? He had kissed her – or she had kissed him, she couldn't remember which, but they had. They must've done. Even her most vivid imaginings weren't _that_ detailed. Were they?

The room, other than Numair, was quiet and still, but beyond the door, voices murmured and bodies bustled; through the open window she could hear all kind of animal and many humans too. Wiggling the toes on her numb limb sent spasms shooting up her leg, making her jerk as she opened her eyes and hissed her pain.

"Daine?" Numair jolted upright; it had been the weight of his head on her leg. Without it, the pain worsened. "Are you all right? I'll get Baird –"

He was already on his feet and on his way to the door. "It's fine, Numair. Pins and needles."

"Oh." His voice was filled with sleep, his hair flattened and mussed, creases rumpling his clothes and face. "I'll get someone anyway."

She sighed. "You needn't."

"I'll feel better."

"I won't," she grumbled, flexing her cramping limb. "It's your fault anyway."

He grimaced, closing his eyes with tired confusion and scrubbing his face roughly. "They still need to check you over."

"By the looks of it, they still need to check _you_ over."

Numair dropped back into his seat with a heavy sigh, apparently having given up. "Baird gave me a clean bill of health, you know."

"What about the bruises?"

The mage's cheek was variant shades of black and purple, with a yellow tinge around the edges; more bloomed above the collar of his shirt, some forming the disconcerting V of a dagger point. "I told him to leave them and save his Gift. Apparently they're dashing."

Daine frowned as something settled heavily in her stomach. "Who told you that?" Shaking her head to try and rid herself of the uncomfortable sensation, she winced. She fancied she could almost hear her head rattling.

He stood again immediately. "I'll get a healer."

"Would you just sit? Anyone would think you were desperate to get away from me! Stop fussing," she told him. "You'll make me dizzy with all your toing and froing." She hesitated, wondering how to broach the subject with him and not at all sure that she could. "Do you know, I had the strangest dream last night?"

Looking concerned, he shifted his chair closer to her. "What was that?"

"I –" she stopped, unsure of what to say, and instead, fixed her stare somewhere over his shoulder. She was so sure, but –

Two cool fingers slid under her chin and tilted it upwards so that she met his gaze. For a long moment, Numair seemed to be searching her eyes with his, before he nodded and released her. Her gaze dropped to her hands, wrung in the blankets.

He heaved a great, troubled sigh. "I had a strange dream as well, last night," he informed her, his voice grave. "We said that we'd have conversations where we told each other what we were thinking, and not have confusing discussions that one or other of us either doesn't understand or refuses to. No more veiled hints." His hand crept into her line of sight as memory flickered in her mind's eye, seemingly reaching for hers, before it fell to rest on the covers once more. "Even though it seems as if it was only a dream, I'd appreciate it if you could tell me what you are thinking right now, Daine, because I find myself suddenly at a loss."

"I think," she said, after a long silence, "that perhaps it wasn't a dream after all."

"Quite."

She allowed a small smile to creep on to her face as she gave a mock sigh of regret. "That's a shame really, because it was a nice dream."

His hand slid back towards her, entwining his long fingers with hers. "And if it wasn't a dream, would it be – nice?"

Her head shot up to look at him. "I thought we weren't meant to be talking theoretically?"

Numair's smile was a mixture of irritation, disbelief and amusement. "Fine," he said eventually. "In a non-theoretical sense, how would that be?"

She grinned impishly, failing miserably in her attempt to look innocent. "I'm not sure I can remember."

* * *

"Is Numair having a glorious reunion with his books?"

Daine and Onua strolled down the hill from the Palace in the early evening, heading for Daine's new room in the Rider Barracks, a temporary building to serve the Riders over the duration of the war. Daine sent up another prayer that it would be short-lived; the building didn't look as if it could withstand one good Stormwing attack. Its new, unweathered wood stuck out like a sore thumb beside the seasoned barracks and stables of the King's Own.

Daine sniggered, tugging on her sling to adjust it. "Most probably. He'll have burrowed himself away in his study with his precious scrolls, more likely than not. We won't see him again for a week."

Truth be told, Daine had seen very little of her friend – her love? – since she had left the infirmary that lunchtime. Though she knew he really did have to rest, having spent all his time since arriving back at the Palace with her, and he was perfectly entitled to return to his rooms, she would have rathered he was with her, especially just now. Besides, knowing him, he would likely still have a fair few things he wanted to talk about – _fret _about – and if she was honest, she would have liked clarification on the matter herself. They had, despite their intentions, not done much actual talking. The day before had been altogether too much for Daine, and she must've fallen asleep again quite quickly, because she couldn't remember much beyond their kiss. That morning, they had only had a few moments before a healer had knocked on the door and insisted that not only must they both eat, but that they submit to proper examinations as well, and from then, they hadn't been left alone.

Attempting to clear her head, she shifted her gaze to the paddocks and the lines of ponies and horses that waited for her. Aware she was back in the Palace, they had been clamouring for her to visit them since she had woken that morning. Daine had been fairly desperate to greet them too, and now that she finally saw them she wasn't sure she could trust her voice.

"Excuse me," she managed to whisper. "I'll try not to be long."

"Take all the time you need," Onua called after her as she broke into a run. She clambered over the fence and disappeared from view behind a mob of heads and bodies. "And watch your arm! Baird only let you out when I promised nothing would happen to it!" A hand – Onua had the sneaking suspicion it was the very one that was meant to be in the sling – waved a dismissal at her. The horsemistress chuckled. "I'll be in the mess!"

At the back of the very large throng of ponies, some strangers and some old friends, was the one Daine wanted to see the most. "Cloud!" she cried when she finally reached her. Wrapping her arms around the pony's neck, the tears she had managed to hold off for the best part of two days finally came. She sobbed into Cloud's mane, silently relating her tale. And don't you say a word about Lachann, she added finally. He could've killed us, but Numair says he made sure that Matthias didn't hurt me. Suddenly she frowned, her surprise making her speak aloud. "You knew all along, didn't you?"

I did not, Cloud objected tartly. I said he smelled –

"– of hot and oily places," they finished together. "Like Carthak," Daine added. "Like Ozorne."

The pony gave a mental shrug. If that's what Carthak and this Ozorne smell like.

"They do," Daine assured her. Suddenly she kicked her foot in the mud, filled with frustration. "We could have found out months ago," she cried in despair.

That's why you should listen to me, Cloud told her sagely.

Daine glared at her pony. Not helping, she replied sternly. We could have been saved months of being stuck in there. We could have been helping all this time!

When Daine finally managed to separate herself from the ponies and find Onua, her shirt and hair covered in horse saliva, there were more old friends, this time of the human variety, to be greeted. Kuri Taylor hugged her warmly, Evin – only returned from the field that day himself – swept her off her feet and spun her round in delight. She finally escaped on the promise that she would be back for supper once she had unpacked and cleaned herself up. Onua led her out the mess and down the corridor. The smell of freshly cut wood was still strong, and Daine wrinkled her nose against it.

"You're in here," Onua gestured, holding the door open for Daine to enter. "We thought you'd prefer the ground floor again. There isn't an external door, but – we thought in the current circumstances that if there was only access to it from inside the barracks, then all the better."

Daine nodded silently, looking around her new room. Finally, she smiled. "Thanks, Onua. It's lovely."

She wasn't lying, either. It had two large shuttered windows that sunlight streamed through, and it was larger than her old room – purpose built, she supposed, for all that she wouldn't be in it very long. There was a desk, and what was more, a full bookcase. She went straight to it, pouring over the titles. "Where did all these come from?" she asked finally. "These are – Numair keeps telling me about some of these. Was it –"

"I think he had a word with Harailt of Aili to get some, yes, and Myles of Olau suggested some too. There's one or two that Carsal of Josu's Dirk – the head of the Royal Mews – recommended for you as well."

She ran her fingers along the spines of the books, unable to stop a wide smile from coming to her face. "They're wonderful," she told her friend over her shoulder. "I'll have to thank them all."

"Well, you'll be more than welcome in the mews if you get a spare moment," Onua professed. "With all the birds coming in and out, they need help checking them over before they send them out again." The K'mir paused, a wide, genuine smile coming to her face. "You have no idea how good it is to see you again, youngling."

Daine grinned. "I think I have a fair idea. You have no idea how good it is to be _out_ again."

Onua crossed the room quickly and tightly embraced her. "I can't even think how you managed it," she told Daine softly. For a long moment the two friends stood together before the older woman patted her back and released her. Her eyes seemed a little over-bright, and her voice, when she spoke, was slightly thicker with concealed emotion. She shook her head, and held up the two packs that she had carried from the healers. "Where do you want these?"

Daine glanced around, and caught sight of a large chest in the corner of the room. "Just put them by there for now, thanks. I'll unpack them later. I need to get scrubbed up."

Onua smiled understandingly. "I'll see you in the mess for supper then." She hugged Daine once more and left.

Alone for the first time all day, Daine took the moment of quiet to absorb everything. Testing the mattress, she sat down on her new bed cross-legged, leaning back against the headboard and surveying her room. It wasn't quite right, she decided. Though she wasn't a great one for material possessions, the room lacked the little trinkets she had gathered over her few years in Tortall: some of Kitten's favourite stones and toys, the few ribbons and cosmetics that she actually owned, sketches she had done of some of her animal friends. It smelled strange too, though Daine knew it was only the combination of new wood and the lack of animal inhabitants. She sighed, feeling her whole body sink. It just didn't feel like home to her.

* * *

Daine was right in that Numair had long ago returned to his rooms in the teachers' wing of the Palace. She was incorrect, however, when she guessed at what he would be doing. Books were fairly low on Numair's list of priorities for once. Instead, he was feeling slightly overwhelmed at his sense of relief at – _finally_ – being home.

His suite of rooms was, for the most part, clean. His small living room and his bedroom had clearly been recently dusted, and the sheets on his bed were fresh, on top of which someone had placed the packs he had lost track of since leaving Golden Wood. He supposed he still had belongings there that he needed to gather, but the thought of going back into that small house made the hair on the back of his neck rise. He knew it would have to be done, and soon, but he had only just escaped that place; if he could possibly prolong his return, even for a few days, he would. His washroom had also been recently attended to, fresh water placed in the ewer and the copper bath tub. The mage dipped a finger in and grimaced. Lukewarm.

Once he had placed a warming spell on the metal bath, he ventured to explore the rest of his rooms. As he had expected, neither his study nor his private workroom beyond had been touched. Stale air prickled his nostrils, overwhelming the comforting scent of aged paper and leather. Dust, thick and undisturbed, covered bookshelves, chairs, tables and notes. His desk, with the protective spell covering the work he had made before they had left on that disastrous journey to Carthak, was entirely untouched. He made a face: notes were strewn across the mahogany and leather surface, in no obvious order now, but one that would surely have made sense to him eight months ago. Most of this work he had either negated through the study he had carried out since then, or had been forgotten altogether. It would take some time to compile these notes with those that he had made since into some discernable order, and then there was the prospect of restarting those projects that their flight to Golden Wood had forced him to abandon. Numair couldn't decide whether he was anticipating this work eagerly or with dread, but he was certain of one thing: he was anxious to begin. His fingers itched at the very prospect. The mage sighed heavily: this was one more task that would have to wait till after the war before he could begin in earnest, and before that, more bodily needs had to be dealt with, beginning with the desire to scrub every possible reminder of the last few days from his body.

Once he had washed, dried and dressed himself, feeling suddenly ridiculous in the ornate clothes and jewellery required by a life lived at court, he paused to glance around his room once more, and then grinned. _Home_. His bed looked so inviting, and for a moment, he allowed himself to stare longingly at it, before shaking his head, wet hair slapping him in sharp reminder. There was more pressing work to be done.

It was from the healers that Numair had first heard the gossip about the progress of the war; snippets here and there through closed doors or whilst they treated Daine and he feigned sleep to avoid their ministrations that convinced him that the more he could find out, and sooner, the better. He had pressed a few of them for more definite information, with varying amounts of success, and had since determined to begin to fill in the gaps of what he knew of the war.

The court they had returned to was far more subdued than the lively, buzzing one they had left; groups whispered in corners whilst pretending to listen to music or gamble, others huddled together warily as if they expected the Red Legion to march through the doors at that very moment. Many of the young men had gone: knights and those younger sons in the Own had long been deployed elsewhere. Those few that remained were tasked with defending Corus and many more were due to ride out in the coming days. Numair suspected – and hoped – strongly that he and Daine would be travelling with them. Others had left in order to arrange and command the defences of their own lands. He had given little thought to his own tower, but he was certain that only another mage of his rank could break the spells he had in place, and anyway, there was probably little he could now do if he was wrong.

Numair didn't know exactly what he had expected from his return to Court; he hadn't envisaged fluttering women as Daine had once assured him, but neither had he thought some of those groups would shrink from him. They believed the stories, he realised, they believed that the coming war was a result of his and Daine's behaviour in Carthak, he was sure of it. Then he heard the whispers.

"Crippled," came from one direction, he heard "maimed" from another. "Ruined." Aware of all the attention on him, and particularly his leg, his limp returned, worse than it had been for many weeks. The whispers and hushed speculation increased.

_Dolt_, came another voice, an internal one this time which had a ring of Daine about it. _What are you doing? You haven't done that in months, why let them make you? There's nothing wrong with you!_

And there wasn't. Why _was_ he letting them worsen his insecurities? Hadn't he rid himself of those? Hadn't Daine convinced him that he was fine, had nothing to be ashamed of? _Show them!_

He shook himself mentally, forcing himself to stop the limp and walk normally, like he could and did. After all, if word got back to Jonathan or Thayet that he still limped, he might find his war duties curbed, and he had promised Daine that he wouldn't leave her alone to face this. Straightening, he began to walk purposefully once again, and when a group of old acquaintances on the other side of the room waved at him in welcome, Numair smiled and crossed to them. Time to go to work.

* * *

"_We're going home,"_ he had told her just before they left Golden Wood. And, true to his word, they had. The question that bothered him now though, was for how long? Over the past day or so, Numair had managed to glean as much information as he could from various people – courtiers, mages, stablehands, soldiers, and one particularly (though incomprehensibly) amused Spymaster – over the situation in Tortall, and what he had learned worried him deeply. Though he had known the king had kept much information from them, it appeared the reality was much worse than even he had expected.

He had already known of the fall of Legann, but hadn't quite been aware of how many had been lost with it; half of Second Company, two Rider groups and fifty infantry- and cavalrymen – one hundred and sixteen men and women in all, not to mention the Port's own defenders, and the lady of the keep herself, Marielle, with the entire city under Carthaki control. Lord Imrah was beside himself, and the king had deployed him in command on the eastern border, just far enough to stop any rash strikes, but near enough that he could be called upon easily when they attempted to break the siege. They had no idea whether those inside were alive or dead. Then there was the news from the east; it was said, though how true this information was, Numair didn't know, that the Red Legion was being held back, though barely, on the Tyran border, bogged down in the marshes and swamps of his birthplace. Further north, they had crossed the Drell in Tusaine. Tortall's old sparring partner, always eager to see the country suffering, had allowed them to pass through the country unhindered, and there were whispers that they had even offered military assistance, though thankfully Myles had quashed that rumour. The north of the country was harried by immortals, Scanran raiding parties and bandits alike, who had realised the area was rich, easy pickings whilst the army was distracted. The Tortallan coast suffered equally. Scanran boats, the Carthaki navy and pirates raided randomly, and Tortall's own navy was stretched thinly along her shores, focused around Port Legann in attempt to prevent Carthaki troop ships from landing in the harbour. In addition to all that, immortals allied with Ozorne struck indiscriminately throughout the country, with raiders following in their wake. Tortall was in poor shape.

It was not all bad news though, thankfully; the Baron and Baroness of Mindelan had secured a peace treaty with the Yamani Isles that would be cemented in coming years with Prince Roald's marriage to a Yamani Princess, and more immediately, the sending of a fleet of ships to relieve the siege on Port Caynn. Once that was broken, they would move on to Port Legann, enabling the Tortallan navy to chase the raiders along their coast. Until the Carthakis _could_ land supplies and soldiers in Legann, their defence of the fort was weak, and the Tortallan siege ensured nothing but food wagons were entering the city. Jonathan could not and would not starve his own citizens. What was more, the Tortallans had had months of warning to gather resources and train new recruits. They were not unprepared.

It had all left Numair much to contemplate, and sleep that night had been elusive. When it had finally come, he had tossed and turned with nightmares, images of Ozorne taunting him with Daine's lifeless body, or his old recurring dream of their escape from Carthak. After the fourth or fifth time that he had awoken, sweat-soaked and panting, he had given up and retreated to his living room, armed with a heavy book. Allowing himself a brief moment to lament the fact that now he was so far away from Daine – a fact which had never bothered him before – meant she would not have heard his night terrors and, in turn, he would no longer hear her padding down the stairs with the pretence of being unable to sleep or fetching a drink in order to check on him, he began determinedly to read. He conveniently forgot all those worries he had had about being caught with her in his rooms.

When he woke, it was shortly after dawn. Again, he missed the noises of the small house – Abigail preparing breakfast, the soldiers bickering and teasing, Daine and Kaddar's amiable chat, and the bustle of the street. He smiled wryly. Now there was an irony. He doubted that any of his companions would feel the same.

Early afternoon saw Numair stalking through the Royal Forest in search of one particular former housemate. He was deep into the forest, following a deer trail by mage-light when he found her.

"Oh, it's you."

Daine stepped out from behind a tree, her knife drawn and glinting in the pale glow of his magic, her cats' eyes shrinking and returning to their own, human form.

"There's no need to sound so thrilled," he told her wryly; she grinned in reply as she sheathed her knife.

"Where've you been? You can't have spent _all_ that time with your books."

He made a face at her. "Well deduced. I've been making some enquiries around the Palace and fending off various queries after your health, though I will admit, I did spend some time in my study. Other than that I've been looking for you."

She smiled shyly, resuming her position prior to his arrival. Her legs crossed in a tailor's seat, she reclined against a tree trunk. "I'm not so hard to find, surely? You can't have been looking for me for a day and a night."

He ignored her last comment as he ended his light spell. "I tried your new room first, then the Rider mess, seeing as it's – it was, anyway – lunch time. Onua said you'd vanished during the morning, so I tried the paddocks, the stables – Rider, Own, Pages, Squires and Nobles – then the Mews."

"And then it occurred to you to ask Cloud."

"Something like that," he admitted, a faint tinge of embarrassment colouring his cheeks, just visible in the dim light of the forest.

"And what about that focus of yours?" she teased, waving a loose curl at him.

The man rubbed a wrist self-consciously. "It's – somewhere safe. As long as you're in the Palace, you can't be that far off. I have no real need of it then."

_Obviously, if it's taken you all day to find me,_ she thought with some amusement. He sat down beside her, his shoulder grazing hers. For a long while they remained in companionable silence, though Daine was sure that some of it may have been because neither was quite sure what to say to the other – or, more accurately, where to begin.

In the end, it was her that broke the stillness. "What were you enquiring about round the Palace then?"

He smiled grimly. "The war." Sighing heavily, he shook his head before elaborating. "We may be in a worse position than you and I have been led to believe." Setting a quick eavesdropping spell around them, he proceeded to tell her his conclusions from his efforts. "It's worse than even I contemplated, and I know what Ozorne's capable of. Haven't I seen him conquering other lands before?"

She dug him sharply in the ribs with her elbow. "Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true. I did."

She shook her head. "I mean about conquering us. He's not going to get the chance." Trying to imagine what would be left at the end of it though was too grim to contemplate.

"Not if I have any say in the matter," Numair agreed darkly.

Daine might have been more bothered by his tone if she hadn't known that Ozorne fully deserved whatever Numair had in mind. Anyway, she had more pressing matters to confess. "Cloud was telling me all along. About Lachann, I mean."

Numair twisted to look at her. "What?"

"She kept telling me that he smelt funny, of heat and oils and…" she trailed off.

"Ozorne's scent?" he guessed.

"Carthak," she corrected. "But Ozorne too." She made a frustrated noise in her throat. "She'd been saying these things all along, and I kept dismissing them."

"It's unfortunate," the mage conceded.

"Is that all you have to say?" she demanded. "We could have been out months ago, Numair. We could have avoided everything, we could have been helping! Who knows what it would be like now if we had?"

"Who knows indeed? Daine, your argument is entirely counterfactual." At her glare, he elaborated. "It's all well and good saying that if Cloud's comments had been interpreted in such a manner as to convince you that your friend was a traitor, we would have been in a different situation, but we have no way of knowing if that would have been the case in reality. Besides, if we had known of Lachann's being an informer, the likelihood is that Jonathan would either have kept us there to draw Ozorne's other agents out, or we would simply have been moved elsewhere. It doesn't mean that we would have been free. Hindsight is a wonderful and dreadful thing, Daine. Don't torment yourself so," he advised, then paused. "Would you have wanted everything different?" His tone was conversational, but his eyes were assessing. She had the feeling they were no longer talking about Cloud's forewarnings.

Daine scowled. "No."

"Well then." He turned back around, a small smile lingering on his lips.

"We might've –"

"We may well have, but equally, we might not have. Neither of us knows what the outcome would have been in a different situation, and as such it is pointless for us to speculate, meaning, therefore, that counterfactual arguments are worth very little when all is said and done."

She sighed pointedly, and caught sight of a smile twisting his mouth. "Don't," she said warningly. The mage's shoulders began to shake. "Oh, wheesht!" she said in annoyance, which only served to make Numair's smile increase. She elbowed him playfully, and then, after a moment's thought, allowed herself to rest her head on his shoulder.

He stilled. A piece of grass he had been playing with quivered in his hands for a moment, before Numair dropped the blade and rubbed his hands on his trousers. He was nervous, she realised. That put her on her guard and she straightened once more.

"Would you answer me a question, Daine?"

She glanced at him. His face was inscrutable as he gazed out into the forest. "What?" she asked, slightly tense. She was half terrified that he would change his mind, or find some way to dismiss everything as not quite what it seemed, a mistake, or misguided moment of tiredness and relief.

"When we said we'd tell each other what we were thinking, for once, were you in earnest?"

How could she answer that? Of course she was, but if she replied in the affirmative only to discover that he wasn't, she'd feel a fool, he'd feel guilty, and neither of them would go near each other. "Were you?" she said finally.

"That's not an answer."

"Neither's that," she countered. She looked down at her hands, clasped together tightly in her lap. "I was," she said quietly.

There was a sigh from beside her, and for a moment she feared the worst, before a long arm slipped around her. "Good." Numair pulled her in close to his body; she leant her head on his chest. His heart pounded wildly in her ear. "I was too." His hand gripped her waist tightly and as she shuffled even closer he pressed a kiss to her hair. Daine lifted her head to meet his gaze. Something in his eyes made the breath in her lungs dissipate as her stomach tightened with anticipation. Her gasp was smothered by his lips as they eased gently over hers. Heat raced through her body, making her heart pound and roar in her ears, taking away her awareness of everything but him and where they touched. After a long while, they broke apart, breathless and trembling. Panting, she grinned. _There_ was the fire other women talked about.

"What?" he asked, smiling.

She curled into him, resting her head on his chest as his arm tightened around her, one of her hands entwined in his shirt. "Never you mind."

Silence resumed once more, though Daine was convinced that this time, it was definitely of the contented variety. Eventually, Numair brushed a stray curl away from her face with a large finger, tucking it behind her ear. "How does it feel to be home then, magelet?"

"It's fine."

Numair raised an eyebrow, tracing his fingers lightly over her features. "And how is it really?"

"It has everything I could need," she told him honestly. "A bed, a desk, a wardrobe, a bookcase. I like the books," she confessed. "Thank you for them. Well," she amended, "for the ones you asked for."

"Are there more?" he asked, sitting up in interest.

Daine giggled and poked him in the stomach. "Who ever said you were only interested in academia?"

He scowled at her, but only for a second before his face broke into a smile. "Have I ever denied it? Besides," he added, leaning back, "I think you'd worry about me if I wasn't." When she laughed outright, he smiled. "Now," he pressed, "how is it really?"

It was her turn to scowl. "You haven't seen it yet," she reminded him. "It doesn't _feel_ like home. But then, that's gone and there's no point moping about it when there's no getting it back."

"Ever practical," he remarked, although his blithe comment did not mask the concern in his voice. "You've only spent one night there though. I'm sure that soon enough it will feel as if you've always been there."

"I'm sure I will," Daine acceded. Somewhere above, there was a splash as a large drop of rainwater broke on leaves. "It'll just take some getting used to. It's certainly wonderful being able to have animals in at night again. Maybe what it needs is Kitten to come in and claw-mark the place, and then it'll be better."

He laughed out loud, reclining against the tree. "I'm sure the Palace joiners would be absolutely delighted if you shared that sentiment with them."

She made a face at him, and rested her head on his chest once more. "And for you?" There were more splashes above, though water didn't seem to penetrate below the canopy of the forest.

"It's good. A relief. And, moreover, it's clean."

"I don't think I'll believe it until I see it," she declared, grimacing as a large drop of water landed on her knee. She rubbed at it with her thumb. "Anyway, you don't expect me to believe that they touched your study or your workroom, do you?"

"I do not, no. And yes, they are a mess. Dusty, anyway. I wish someone had thought to put dustsheets over the furniture."

She grinned. "Just imagine, Numair. You're going to _have_ to let a servant in to clean up now."

Overhead, the rain was evidently becoming torrential, the start of a summer storm. More and more water slid through the forest roof, drumming a tattoo on the leaves above. Numair simply pulled Daine in tighter, wrapping his arms around her, his chin resting on her head, until, unannounced, thunder pealed overhead. "Come on," the mage murmured, "we'd best get inside."

"Even you can't withstand Mithros' wrath," she joked as they got to their feet.

"Nor am I inclined to try." Taking her hand in one of his, he lit their path with magic streaming from the other. It didn't take long for them to reach the edge of the Royal Forest at a jog, but the downpour was so heavy, they could barely see the Rider barracks across the paddock through the white sheet of rain.

When they burst into the building, breathless with laughter and dripping water everywhere, they were soaked through and shivering. Daine's cold fingers fumbled with her key, but finally she got the door open. Once inside, she sought towels for them both as Numair headed straight for the bookcase, running his fingers along the spines of the books before selecting one and pulling it out, ignoring the fact that his shirt stuck to his skin and his hair was sprinkling water everywhere. She tossed a cloth at him. "Dry yourself off first, mage. And try not to drip too much on them."

The look he shot at her was incredulous; as if he would ever dream of such a thing. She laughed as she disappeared beneath her own towel, scrubbing her hair dry. "Mithros, Mynoss and Shakith. Who gave you this?" She heard the bed creak as he apparently sat down. "This was outdated before _I_ was born."

"You, as old as the hills." She began to search through a large chest, which had been stocked with sheets. Tugging out a blanket, she slung it at him.

He ignored her comment as peeled his shirt off and shrugged into the blanket, assessing the title page of the book as he wrung out the garment. "Thanks. Tranald the Northerner was almost certainly of unsound mind when he wrote this. Some of his works shortly after this are incomprehensible, and in some cases, lethal."

"Not that I'd be able to cast any spells," she interrupted.

He dismissed this fact with a wave of his hand. "Irrelevant. The _theory_ is the important part. You work with and against mages. _You _need to know. If Harailt gave you this, believe me, I'll have a few words to say to him. I could name a dozen or more people who have discredited his theories."

"Please don't." She had slipped behind her changing screen, and was busy pulling on dry, warm clothes.

"How will you ever argue against it if you cannot name one or more detractors?" he demanded. He had been harping on about this a lot recently, though Daine wasn't entirely sure why. "Just remember that amongst them is your humble teacher. Not to mention Lindhall."

"Of course. I will read it with great scepticism, and remember you've rubbished it. Will that do?"

There was no answer. She pulled her tunic over her head and stepped out from the cover of the screen. Having replaced his shirt, the mage had reclined on her bed, and was staring into the distance, still rubbing the leather cover of the volume thoughtfully. Mercifully, his muddy boots were hanging off the end.

"Are you all right?" There was no indication he had even heard her. "Numair?" She crossed to him and gently pulled the book from his hands. "It's nonsense."

He looked up at her, his expression confused. After a moment, his gaze settled on the disputed text and he nodded. "Quite right."

She scrutinized him closely, and recognised the desolate look in his eyes as one she had seen far too often in the past months. "You still miss him, don't you?" She sat on the bed next to him, forcing him to shuffle up to accommodate her.

His head tilted to one side, his mouth tightly pressed shut as he worked to control himself. After a long moment, his voice rough, he nodded. "I do." He shook his head, his eyes closed. "It's not been so long since – you know how close we were, and I was so looking forward to –" He pressed a hand to his eyes, fingers on temples, almost entirely obscuring his features from her. "I hadn't ever considered…" Numair trailed off.

Daine took his free hand, clutching it tightly. A weak smile flitted across his face. Finally he uncovered his face and patted her hands. "I'll be fine. Don't look at me so sceptically, Daine. I will." His eyes drifted over her, and the mage smiled, truly this time. "Your hair looks rather interesting."

She scowled at him. Taking a seat at her desk, she found a brush and began to tug it through her hair. Numair returned to the book, skimming through it and snorting in derision every so often.

"Gods-blasted things!" she yelped, yanking the comb through a particularly stubborn tangle. "I've a good mind just to shear them right off!"

"Let me," he said softly as he got to his feet. Putting the book aside, he took the brush from her hands and disentangled it gently from its knot. His long fingers worked through her hair, easily untangling and smoothing out her curls. Occasionally they brushed her neck and shoulders, forcing her to suppress tremors of excitement. Before, the contact wouldn't have meant a thing – before, she would've welcomed it, even. It was not as though she didn't want it, but somehow it felt different. This just seemed more – intimate.

Perhaps Numair sensed it as well, or perhaps he had just felt her reaction, as he too stiffened, his fingers stilled. He ran the brush through her hair once more, and then leaned over, placing it on her desk. Clearing his throat, he straightened behind her, not quite meeting her eye in the small mirror that hung on the wall. "It's strange for me too," he murmured, his voice low and hesitant. "I don't know what you find… acceptable, or what you think goes too far. For that matter, I don't yet know what _I_ find acceptable. I've spent so long trying to stop myself –" He broke off, contemplating. "I don't want you to feel like I'm forcing you into anything you're not willing to do, nor is it my intention…" his voice trailed away again. His hand smoothed her hair once more; Daine felt her muscles grow taut even as she shivered. "Too new for either of us. As I see it, magelet, neither one of us is sure what we may, in this new situation," he gestured with his hands expressively, "do. Until we are, then perhaps…" he moved suddenly, opening her door a few inches.

"Appearance of propriety," he explained, sitting on the bed once more.

"Do you think so about everything?" she demanded, turning to face him.

He offered her a brief, crooked smile. "You know well that I do." He indicated the door. "Is that better?"

"Yes, but –"

His face grew solemn and uncertain again. "But we can't just deal with this by opening a door. We need to work out why it is that we're so nervous of this."

"I'd've thought that was obvious," she told him. "Neither of us wants to – to ruin what we already have."

"Quite." He took her hands in his, resting them on her knees, his thumbs smoothing the skin on the back of her hands repeatedly. "It seems that we still need to have that conversation we've been planning to."

"Do we need to do it with half the Riders staring in then?"

As if to prove her point, Onua chose that moment to stick her head round the door. "Daine, when you have a minute – Numair. I didn't realise you were here." The horsemistress looked momentarily taken aback as her eyes flicked between their two red faces and their interlocked hands. She grinned. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"

Standing abruptly, he shrugged off the blanket from around his shoulders. "Not at all. In fact, I was just –" Dropping Daine's hands, he headed for the door.

Onua stood back to let him pass. "Supper's not long," she reminded him. "Won't you join us?"

"Things to do," he said vaguely. "Must get some dry clothes on. I'll eh, I'll see you both tomorrow."

"I've hardly seen you!" Onua protested as he left.

"Coward," Daine muttered after his back.

Onua's eyes were still following the retreating mage as he left the barracks. "Did I say something?"

"No. It's the fear that I would." Daine murmured darkly. Onua snorted. _She_, at least, knew he wouldn't do anything she didn't want. He was far too honourable for that, and anyway, it wasn't as if she didn't know when to say no either. She picked up the brush again and began to sweep her hair away from her face, pinning it back as she went. "You wanted me?"

"Not for much, really. Just to run a hand over the new arrivals and see what you thought once the rain's off. Bazhir bred, finicky little things, should be perfect for the new trainees. Not much good as replacements though – Evin thought to take one out earlier, he's already been dumped on his rear end. We'll need to train them up with new recruits." A wicked glint appeared in the horsemistress' eye. "So, is there something I should know?"

* * *

**I have to admit, personally this feels a little awkward to me, but as I said, trying to get out of the analytical thinking and back into the fiction, and anyway, after proof-reading this (and I'm not exaggerating. Much.) about 100 times, I have no idea what else to do with it. What do you think?**

**Misty**


	29. Chapter 28: Kicking Heels

**I intended to update this a few weeks ago and then had a crisis of confidence and edited and edited and re-read and re-read so much that I can't take it in anymore! Oh, and it's not as long as FF. net says it is - it's handily added on more than 1000 wds to the word count!**

**The last of the ultra-long chapters (and it is, **_**ultra**_** long), to get everything out the way that needs to be gotten out of the way before the fun starts. A few loose ends to tie up here, a few sub-plots to start there. So enjoy it while it lasts, people! I did try in vain to cut, but my attempt ended when I realised I was adding more in than I was taking out. Also, sorry for the naff chapter title. Knew there was a reason I hadn't started doing those.**

**Thanks to all those who reviewed, your words are much appreciated (and confidence boosting!). I'm sure I replied to all of you, and if not, apologies, let me know, and I'll do it this time around! (That's my way of saying, more reviews please!)**

**As always, only the plot is mine. (Almost) everything else belongs to Tamora Pierce.**

**Chapter 28: Kicking Heels**

* * *

Life back at the Palace was very much as Daine had hoped it would be. Caught in a whirlwind of training drills, assessing the health of horses, dogs and hawks, being reunited with old friends – human and People alike – and catching up on news from the fronts, she barely had time to think over the following days, let alone contemplate Numair's scurrying off. The few glimpses she did catch of him, he was generally head bent deep in conversation with one mage or other, or talking tactics with various commanders. It was a sudden and unwelcome jump from living almost in one another's pockets in Golden Wood to barely seeing each other and Daine missed him sorely, though she would've been hard-pressed to admit it. Instead, she kept herself occupied.

It wasn't difficult, not when it seemed like parties of warriors were riding in and out almost by the hour. Though there was no sign of the enemy near the capital itself, Port Caynn was besieged from the sea, and there was a constant stream of supplies headed to and from the city. Meanwhile, immortals struck in the vicinity of Corus. Rider groups and Third Company dealt with them, spending, from what Daine could gather, weeks straight in the saddle before those close enough could return to barracks for a day's rest and to replenish supplies whilst others took their place. The weary faces of the Riders in the mess made Daine wonder just how long they – and the country – could withstand this constant stream of attack, though she knew that it was all part of Ozorne's plan: to diminish their supplies and exhaust their fighters before he and the main army landed. She refused to let herself think about what would happen when they did.

Then there was Kaddar. The prince provided key knowledge of the Red Legion, the Emperor's war-mages and Lindhall's networks of conspirators, and much of his time was spent in war council meetings, helping formulate strategy and tactics. When he wasn't, though, Daine became tasked with showing him around the Palace, much as he had done for her.

Their tour began in the Royal Menagerie, where Kaddar was as intrigued by the development of the environments in the various enclosures as he had seemed in Carthak. Though Daine couldn't explain all the magecraft to him, she certainly could introduce him to the animals and explain more about the habitats they were trying to recreate. Then, over the following days, there were the Palace temples to show him, the libraries, and when she had finally dragged him from them with the promise they could return, there was the rest of the Palace to be explored. She led him through all the grand state rooms: the Hall of Crowns, the throne room, the great ballrooms and various reception rooms, the banquet hall. Kaddar seemed unimpressed, and thinking of the grand opulence of his Carthaki home, Daine could see why. Compared to that, even with all its grandeur, the Tortallan Palace seemed positively understated. Nevertheless, she knew which of the two she'd rather live in.

"_You_ might not think it as spectacular as your Imperial Palace –"

"What's left of it," he cut in, grinning.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "– but it does us just as well. Numair says there are remains of a temple that date back to the Old Ones in the catacombs, if you want to see them. You'd have to ask him or mayhap Myles of Olau about them though. He's written a couple of interesting studies on them. I don't really know much."

Kaddar raised his eyebrows. "I haven't read them myself, but I know Sir Myles' work is highly commended. If you've read the papers, then I'm certain you know plenty. Lead on."

Though Kaddar was dressed plainly, with only his ruby eardrop and nose-stud, and heavy silver bracelet as any indication of his wealth and status, it did not stop many of the Tortallans they met on their tours from bowing to him. "I do wish they wouldn't do that," he murmured to her after Daine had introduced him to one group of minor courtiers the following day.

"Wouldn't what? It's this way," she grabbed his arm and towed him in the opposite direction. "If you're wanting to see the training yards before the pages pack up for the day, we'd best move. Perhaps you and Lord Wyldon can trade opinions on female warriors."

The scowl he shot in her direction made her laugh. "Call me 'Your Highness', and bow, I mean."

She looked at him, startled. "Why?"

"He'll have disinherited me by now," he muttered, "and I'm not likely to ever be back in Carthak again to accede to the throne anyway."

She held a door open for him. "I'm no expert on royal protocol," Daine said as she led him through one of the Palace's many mazes of courtyards, "but surely the title's still yours? And how do you know you won't be back?"

The prince shook his head. "The title is mine as long as my Uncle allows it to be so. He chooses what title you have, much as your king does here. The difference is that King Jonathan's not in the habit of disinheriting his heirs. Besides, even if you do win this war –"

"Thank you for your faith, _your highness_," she told him darkly. "Your optimism inspires me. You'll make a wonderful leader."

He made a face at her as he followed her through a gateway and into the Palace gardens. "I don't need to be inspiring anymore."

"All the same, I'm glad you believe your uncle can be defeated. What's the point of you spending all that time discussing tactics if you don't think it can be done?" she demanded. "If we all thought like you, we might as well just lay down and let him walk all over us right now." She shook her head, and began to list points on her fingers. "We have mages who are just as well-trained as your uncle's, and we have stronger, better ones, too. We have a king who has magic tied to the very earth he stands on, and what's more, the Dominion Jewel itself. We have a Champion known throughout the world, one of the most highly respected Knights in the Eastern Lands at the head of the King's Own, and an army trained to rival yours in skill if not in number. Our knights and fighters are disciplined and determined – and what's more, we have a sea between your country and ours. And animals too. I'd wager your uncle doesn't have any animals that fight for him."

"All right," he conceded, holding his hands up in surrender. "I believe you." He grinned. "I'd follow you into battle any day."

"Well," she managed, blushing. "You're not meant to be following me." She fell silent as they began down the steep slope to the training yards. Below, they could see the Shang Wildcat and Horse putting the pages through their paces. "Are they even letting you fight?"

Kaddar shrugged, his eyes following the flowing movements of the two Shang warriors. "I wouldn't expect so. I'm too much a risk, amn't I? Too much of a target for them to let me out in the field without protection, and that's just not viable."

Daine leaned on the fence that surrounded the yard. "I don't know," she said, nodding a greeting to Eda Bell, the Wildcat. Her eyes fell on the pages. She had begun fighting for the realm when she was thirteen; some of them were younger than she had been then. "We'll need every fighter and every mage we can get." Thinking of the coming battles, she added absently, "And you just happen to be both."

* * *

Something was making her shirt wet, a fact which broke through Daine's doze. Cloud was standing over her, lipping her sleeve.

"Leave off, Cloud," she groaned, pushing the mare's nose away. It had been a long day working with the Rider ponies, and worse, she had received some unsettling news that afternoon which hadn't made her mood any better. Instead of joining the Riders for the evening, Daine had taken a walk along the Royal Forest's edge in attempt to clear her head. When she had taken a seat under the treeline, her exhaustion had quickly overwhelmed her and she had fallen asleep, content with the fresh breeze on her face and the rustles of the forest surrounding her.

You've got company, her pony said instead.

Daine turned her back on the direction her mount was indicating. "Unless it's someone intent on my death, I don't want to know."

If it's someone intent on your death, Cloud replied sharply, I might just let them do it. Anyway, I don't think the Stork-man wants to kill you any time soon. More's the pity.

Daine sighed. The very thought of seeing Numair rose butterflies in her stomach, and if anyone could make her feel better it would be him, but she had the suspicion that he had come to talk and she wasn't sure if she had the energy. She turned to face him, offering the mage a weak smile.

"Anyone would think you'd been hiding from me," she called down the slope to him.

"Hiding from you?" he repeated innocently. "I'm not sure I know what you mean." Daine lifted her head to look at him, her tired eyes squinting in the fading sunlight. As he neared her, the small smile he wore disappeared, concern flickering in his eyes. "Are you all right?"

She let her head fall back against the tree with a sigh. "Long day."

He nodded in understanding as he dug in his pocket. "Here," he produced an apple which he offered to Cloud. The mare snorted as she took it from him.

"If you're trying to buy my pony, you're wasting your time."

He ignored her comment, sitting down roughly beside her. "Are you going to tell me what's made today so tiring?"

"Oh, just work. Alanna's back, did you know? Came in today from the Coastal Hills, not that she's been home. Helping plan the defences in case they land."

He nodded, appearing for once not to notice that she had omitted something fairly large. "I know. She appeared in the Council meeting earlier. Be glad you haven't been asked to one of those yet, by the way. It's a lot of sitting round talking about soldiers and suppliers and resources." He grinned evilly. "Your time will come though," he told her, a wicked glint in his eye. "They want you to enlist some animal spies. Or at least help train the hawks in the mews."

She snorted. "I look forward to it."

"I thought we could have that chat," he said eventually. He rubbed the amber eardrop he wore consciously as his eyes assessed her. "Maybe you're too tired."

"And mayhap you're looking for an excuse to run off and not be seen for days again."

He crooked an eyebrow. "I've been working," he reminded her, "as have you. And it seems to me that whenever I've looked for you, you've had a certain Carthaki prince in tow." Daine rolled her eyes. "I'm merely pointing out that his presence is not conducive to conversation," he told her, the false innocence on his face daring her to rise to his bait.

"What news from the war room?" she asked instead, turning on her side and resting her head on his shoulder. Cloud sniffed derisively and began to wander back to the Rider paddocks, bored of their talk.

Numair shifted uncomfortably as he watched the pony go, his expression growing grim. "None of it good, I'm afraid. We're in for a long summer."

When he fell silent, she questioned, "Is that all you can say?"

"Almost," the mage sighed. "At least, out here. We can't know who might be listening in on us, and I have neither the energy nor the inclination to move and cast a spell against eavesdroppers. I've heard from Tkaa though; he wrote to Jon last week. Kitten is fine."

Daine released a sigh that she hadn't known she'd been holding, one knot of tension in her chest loosening, straightening as an anxious burden lifted from her. "Truly?"

He smiled. "Truly. They've been dealing only with wyverns, travelling between forts and towns as they're needed. It's not ideal, but Tkaa's more than capable of looking after Kitten, never mind protecting her. They've seen a lot of action, but she's doing well."

"Thank the Goddess," she whispered reverentially. Though the sun was still above the horizon, gloom hung low in the shelter of the trees, and Daine found it hard to read his face in the dim light. "You wanted to talk?"

The mage exhaled audibly. "Normally I'd say you were too tired, but –"

"But if we carry on at this rate, we might not see each other again for days."

"Precisely." His gaze settled on her face, eyes scrutinizing.

She blushed and looked down at her hands, clenched together in her lap. "I've missed you," she admitted eventually.

He uttered a soft laugh. "I've missed you too, magelet. An inordinate amount." He ran a warm hand down the side of her face, and Daine couldn't help but turn into it, closing her eyes and savouring the sensation that his touch brought. When she looked up and met his gaze, it was warm, but when she offered him a smile, his expression became closed.

His hand fell to his lap. "Daine, I've been thinking."

"Uh oh," she said simply.

"Very droll. I'm serious, Daine."

"Why do I not get the feeling that I'll like what you say?"

"I can't –" he started sharply, before his voice dropped swiftly. "Please, Daine. This is –"

Daine closed her eyes, a heavy weight settling in her gut. Was this it then?

He shifted, turning round so that he could face her as he sat cross-legged, and took her hands in his. It took him a while to begin, and though when he spoke his voice seemed confident, Daine could hear the tremor in it and feel it in his hands as they held hers. "Daine, we're facing a war. Neither of us know what will happen, or how long it will last, or even –" his voice caught on the words "– even if we'll both come out of it unscathed." He gestured roughly in the direction of his leg. "We know what depths Ozorne will plumb to."

"But Numair, I don't care."

He smiled sadly at her. "I know. But we can't guarantee that – that we'll feel the same if – if one of us loses a limb, or –"

Her head shot up, her features shocked. If he was looking for compliments, he was going a funny way about it, she thought. "Do you only think I – that I'm attracted to you just because of _looks_?"

"No, Daine. But –" The sinking feeling in her gut worsened. "I think, perhaps, that we should wait a while before we – before we let our relationship progress."

"'Wait'?" she frowned. "Till when, exactly?" Her eyes narrowed. "And what do you mean, 'progress'?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "You're so young, Daine. I want you to be sure."

"I _am_," she insisted, but he shook his head.

"It's as much for me as it is for you," he admitted, his soft voice low and compelling. "I don't think –" he broke off and heaved a sigh, looking over her head, apparently searching for the words he needed. "If either of us realised in a few months that this was a mistake, I'm not sure I could bear it."

"If I realise, you mean." Daine glared at him. "Do you not think I know my own mind?" she demanded. She thudded her chest with a hand for emphasis, gripping her tunic. "Do you not think I know my own heart? I'm not some flighty court lady!"

"I never thought for a moment that you were," he assured her urgently, catching her hands and holding them tightly.

"Then why say this?" she asked. "I know what I want, Numair. I –"

"Wait," he interrupted hurriedly. "We need to be sure."

Daine rolled her eyes at him. "And I am," she repeated slowly. "I've never been more certain about anything in my life."

"Have you considered what this will entail?"

Daine had daydreamed a lot about what their relationship would be like, and had been doing so for longer than she cared to admit, but something in his tone made her sure he wasn't talking about anything she _had_ considered. "What d'you mean?"

"Daine, when people find out about us – you know what court is like. People will be gossiping about us – _you_ – constantly. Aren't you worried?"

She shrugged. "What is there to worry about? People gossiped about me in Snowsdale, people have gossiped about me since I arrived in Tortall – people have gossiped about _us_ when there was nothing to gossip about! And I've heard plenty of rumours about _your_ affairs, even the ones that don't include me." The gloom was not dark enough to conceal Numair's blush. "They never bothered you before, not that I could see. If we're both happy, why should we care?"

"Can we truly be happy if people are talking about us and undermining us constantly?"

"Aren't you the one who's always telling me that I'm better than all that?" she shot back. At his nod, she added, "So why does it matter now? What damage can it do?" She shook her head and tried to smile. "In any case, they'd probably be so surprised they'd gotten something right for once, they'd all clam up with the shock."

Her attempted joke fell flat. His eyes bored into her, his expression intense. "I don't want you to be hurt." His words reverberated around his chest, deepening his voice, and hung in the space between them.

She grasped his hands all the tighter, but the mage shook his head and pressed on. "I couldn't bear it if you were scathed because of me. The court gossips could rip your reputation to shreds in seconds, and the conservatives will have a field day, can you imagine? If it's not about your sex, then about our ages, or –"

"Numair," she interrupted seriously, "there's plenty of old conservatives, and I mean _old_, matched with women the same age I am. It's commonplace, and you know it well. Besides," she added quietly after a moment, bringing her eyes up to meet his coyly, "if it's a question of me being young, they say women mature faster than men anyway."

Numair raised an eyebrow, but for almost the first time in their conversation, there was the merest hint of a smile touching his lips. "I don't think they quite mean by fourteen years though, magelet."

"Nonsense," she retorted. "Anyway, I have common sense enough for the both of us." He chuckled softly. "It's worth a try, isn't it?"

"I don't need much persuasion though," he replied wryly. He was silent for a long moment, his troubled expression resumed. "Daine, are you so sure –"

"Yes!" she exclaimed. Her weariness and the black mood she had been in when he had appeared threatened to overwhelm her. She swallowed, forcing herself to remain calm. "Numair, you said that you – that you'd…"

Gently he freed his hands from hers, and cupped her face, forcing her to raise her gaze to meet his. "Sweet, believe me," he implored her, "there is nothing I want more than for this to be as easy as it ought to be! You have no idea."

"You'd be surprised."

Numair looked away, releasing her. "But it's not as simple as all that."

"You're making excuses," she told him flatly.

"I'm not!" he protested, swinging back round to face her. "I just feel –" he shook his head and closed his eyes, his voice uneven. "We said, the other day, that we didn't want to ruin what we have. We said it would take some getting used to. That still holds true, Daine. I don't want to rush you into anything; I don't want to force you. _That_ is why I think we should – should wait."

"Shouldn't that be my decision to make too?" She shook her head. "And anyhow, Numair, I _know_ you, and I _know_ you won't do any of what you said."

He sounded hollow. "I wish I had your faith in me, magelet."

She sighed with frustration. "Numair –"

He turned away from her, leaning back against the tree, his gaze fixed somewhere across the field. Daine sat back so she could try to get a better look at him, shaping cat eyes for herself. The mage's head hung dejectedly. It was all there in his face; the fear, the concern, the worry. He finally raised her eyes to look into hers, and she recognised what she saw there with remorse. It was that same desolation, that same anguish she had seen in his face so many times in Golden Wood. It was that same self-loathing that had bothered her for so long. Inadequateness. There – she had finally been able to put a name to that emotion she had seen so many times and never quite been able to put a finger on. He didn't think he was good enough for her.

"Numair," she said, her voice harsh, her frustration getting the better of her, "you told me once that age wasn't a barrier for me, remember, when I was treating your leg that first time? Why make it one for me – for _us_ – now? There is _no one_ in this world who I would rather be with, I am certain of it. You've always helped me with _everything_ – chasing off across the country after wolf packs and hurt animals, and training my magic, and even just listening when I needed it – and nobody else has ever given me so much respect or had so much confidence in me. You've given me so much. I don't _care_ about how you look – how you _think_ you look – or how old you are and how young I am, or about rumours and gossip and such, or even the war, I just care about you. What do I have to do to prove it to you?"

* * *

That conversation still dominated the mage's thoughts the following afternoon; in particular, the image of Daine's face as she allayed all the reasons he could possibly suggest to delay the progression of their relationship, and the expression she wore as he – somewhat inexplicably even to his own mind – produced more haunted him. Her hurt countenance as he had pressed on despite her efforts plagued him through the council meetings of the morning and well into the afternoon, which found him tucked away in his study, hoping to avoid the attention of anyone by burying his nose in a book. He needn't have bothered though; his eyes skimmed over the text without seeing anything, and in any case it wasn't long past the second afternoon bell that a knock came at his door.

He stilled, hoping that, hidden away in his study as he was, whoever was at the door wouldn't hear him, decide he wasn't in, and leave. After a long moment, the knock came again, louder and more insistent. It wasn't Daine, he knew – the wards had long been spelled to let her in, and unless she had discovered a sudden shy streak, or was still annoyed with him from yesterday – a distinct possibility, he realised with a surge of guilt – she would've come in by now. There was another, longer silence, before the door handle rattled. Even from where he sat, he could hear the familiar curse from outside, and his stomach sank. The owner of the voice pounded the door with a fist.

"Numair Salmalín," came the call, "I _know_ you're in there. _Let me in_ or I'll break the door down myself!"

There was little that could be done to stop a Lioness on the prowl, so with a resigned flick of the hand, he raised the wards on his rooms enough to allow Alanna entry.

"Where are you, mage?" she growled from his small antechamber.

"Through here," he called absently, hoping that he could affect the pretence of study authentically enough; after all, it was largely what he was employed to do.

Though his gaze was focused on the words before him, he could imagine the knight's stance as she stood in the doorway: hands on hips, scowl on face, violet eyes glittering dangerously. He glanced over at her and allowed himself a small smile. _Accurate as ever._

"Social or business call?" he asked pleasantly. "There's not some meeting I've forgotten about is there? Or has Jon decided I should be present this afternoon? I thought it was all logistics?"

"It is," came her reply, cool and disconcertingly genial. "This is entirely social."

"Oh, good. Take a seat, and then maybe you can explain why you felt it necessary to dent my door for a visit between friends." He lowered his head as if to return to his reading.

Alanna didn't move. "Have you seen Daine today?"

Her face loomed above him once again, and suddenly the purpose of Alanna's visit became all too apparent. _Oh._ Feigning calm, he continued staring fixedly at the page. "Have you tried Kaddar? She's never without him these days. He's bound to know."

"You know, there was a time when you only had to look for you to find her."

"Your subtleness has been duly noted, Alanna," he told her evenly.

"I'm not trying to be subtle."

He still refused to look up at his companion, but raised an eyebrow as he skimmed over the words. "There's a surprise."

He heard the typically frustrated sigh. "Numair," she said warningly.

Finally he closed the book, his fingers still – somewhat unnecessarily as he hadn't absorbed any of its contents since he had lifted the book that lunchtime – between the pages. "Your concern is welcomed, Alanna, but I'm not going to tell her." _Not yet, anyway._

The knight crossed her arms. "From what she tells me, you already have."

For a long moment he was stunned into silence; Alanna watched him recover with some amusement. "It's not funny," he finally managed.

She chuckled. "Numair, I've watched you and the court ladies for years; _none_ of them have affected you the way that she has."

"And that's all that it'll be."

"You've kissed her. It's not on to kiss a girl and then disappear."

He cursed inwardly. "How much has she told you, exactly?"

Alanna grinned as she moved to sit down. "Enough."

He rolled his eyes. "Has she told anyone else?"

The woman shrugged lightly. "Who Daine tells is her own prerogative."

"Onua." At the knight's nod, he sighed. He had suspected she had probably guessed as much after the other day. He pressed the bridge of his nose with his index finger absently as he thought. "Miri. I bet she's told Miri." Seeing Alanna's blank look, he added, "Fisher. She's in the Webspinners. She was at the training camp at Pirate's Swoop, remember, the first year Daine came here?"

The knight sat forwards. "Numair, the Third Riders were – lost when Legann fell. We haven't heard from them since."

He swore softly, offering a quick prayer to the Goddess for their safety. "Are they – dead?"

"We don't know. There's been no word out of there from anyone – even hedgewitches in the city – since March. At the very least they're prisoners."

He stood abruptly. "Does Daine know? Gods – I need to – I should find her. She'll be –"

"Sit down, Numair. She knows. She found out yesterday."

Complying, he said, "She never said anything when I spoke to her."

"For some strange reason, Numair, she seems to think that you don't want to spend time with her because of conservatives. I didn't quite understand it myself."

Numair swore again. If he had known yesterday – no wonder she had seemed so miserable, before he had even begun speaking to her. He had seen then that something was not right with her, but had easily accepted her admission that she was tired as being the sole problem – too easily. "I never said –"

"Whatever it was that you did or didn't say, Numair, it doesn't mean that that girl isn't thinking it. You told her that you didn't want to start anything with all this hanging over you, fair enough, but that she was too young to know what she really wanted?" Alanna made an exasperated noise. "Daine is just as determined and sure-footed as the day we met her, more so in fact. You need to get over this fear of losing her, Numair, especially now. Stop overanalysing everything and only thinking of the worst."

He sighed. If only it was as easy done as it was said. He wrapped a hand around the wrist that held the invisible locket he'd had made to contain her portrait and lock of hair, feeling the metal dig sharply in to his skin, and covered his face with his other hand. "But –"

"Hush," the knight instructed him. She stood up and began pacing, before returning to stand behind her chair and gripping its back. Numair watched her between his fingers. Alanna studied him for a moment, and then smiled gently, shaking her head. "You look the image of a doomed man, Numair. Relax. It can't possibly be as bad as you think it will be."

Numair snorted. "At least one of us is convinced of that fact."

"And you can stop feeling sorry for yourself too. I won't tolerate it, and you can bet that Daine won't either." She looked at the mage, who still sat with head in hands, and sighed. "Tell me the worst of it then."

He eyed her suspiciously through his digits. "I know you, Alanna. You'll only laugh and ridicule me."

"Charming," she replied tartly, her amused expression belying her annoyed tone. "If I'd known you thought so little of me, I wouldn't have offered. Besides, maybe if I do it, you'll realise exactly how ridiculous this all is."

* * *

As it turned out, Alanna was, for the most part, right. Not that he'd tell her anytime soon, Numair thought wryly as he made his way to the Rider buildings. His imagination had fixated on the worse possible outcomes and was letting his insecurities and fears take precedence over everything else as a result, including his overwhelming desire to tell Daine all. This was now combined with an uneasy sense of guilt; Daine would have been tormented enough about her friend's imprisonment – friends', really – and he had done nothing to ease that. He might have told himself that in asking her to wait he was trying to protect her, but he was in reality doing more harm than good.

Sadly Alanna was right about one more thing too; Daine was not one for wallowing in self-pity, and she'd been putting up with his since their escape from Carthak. How much longer would she?

With a dry laugh that was by no means humourful, he realised he was doing it again. Forcing himself to push down yet another of his fears, he began down the long slope to the training yards. He hated feeling so insecure with her; it crossed his mind to wonder vaguely whether, in another life where Ozorne hadn't permanently scarred him, he would feel so unsure of himself around her. She had been one of his closest friends – his closest friend – for so long, and their months of confinement had, in some ways, only served to grow them closer, but in other respects they were so much further apart than they had been prior to Midwinter. He wanted to fix all those things, to close all those distances that had never been there before, but most of all, he wanted her, and he wanted her to know that.

Before he knew it, lost in contemplations, he was standing at her door, fist raised to chap. Rather unfairly, he thought, before he had the chance to gather himself, the door swung open to reveal Daine. At the sight of her, his grovelling apology died on his lips. She looked – _extraordinary_ – and yet, he couldn't place anything different about her. He released an inward sigh. _Love struck_.

"Numair." He couldn't tell if she sounded surprised, happy or despondent, but her eyes were fixed firmly on the floor between their feet.

He lifted her chin with a finger, raising her head so that he could meet her gaze. She was trembling under his touch and Numair silently berated himself once more. "May I come in?" he asked softly.

Her eyes narrowed into an expression he regrettably knew all too well. "Won't that mean people might talk? Mayhap one of them conservatives might see us and start talking about us, and all of a sudden, I'll hate you and have no reputation."

"Daine –"

She shook all the harder, though he doubted he would have known had he not been in contact with her; her apparent nerves were not given away by her defiant tone nor by the hands that were balled into fists at her sides. "Or, maybe, I'll be appalled by how your leg looks, even though it's me that's been looking after it – _you_ – all these months, or perhaps –"

"_Daine_ –"

"– I'll become all fickle, like one of those court ladies you like. Maybe _then_ you'll think I'm old enough."

"You of all people know perfectly well that –"

"_Or_ –"

In attempt to silence her, he pressed a large finger to her lips and pushed her back into her room. "May I come in?" he repeated. Mutely, she held her arm open to usher him inside. When he closed the door behind him, he turned around to find that she was watching him impassively, one eyebrow arched.

"I am the biggest of all fools, magelet." He offered her a rueful smile, which was met with scepticism. "Forgive me?"

"That depends." She folded her arms, fixing him with a glare. "Are you going to produce more of those excuses and pass them off as protecting me?"

He hesitated, wanting to defend his motives, and then sighed. "No. No more excuses. And as for my fears –"

"We both have those," she put in impatiently. "It doesn't mean we shouldn't try, though. We just have to go through them together."

He smiled weakly. "Of course." Then his smile widened in relief, and he glanced down before looking back up at her. "Forgive me?"

"If you stopped calling yourself a fool, that might help."

"I –" About to speak, he fell silent at her raised eyebrow. Then he snorted, shaking his head. "I've heard it enough, these past months."

Daine's head lowered sadly, and she sighed in despair. "No, Numair. Only from yourself. At least, you're not a fool in the way you think." She raised her eyes, meeting his gaze with a mischievous glint. "That's not to say you aren't, though."

"Thanks ever so."

"I mean it, though. You have to stop this –" she waved her hands in attempt to express her thoughts clearly and then tailed off, before looking into his eyes, hers a turbulent mixture of frustration, hope, fear and desperation that was painful for him to see.

He couldn't help it; he pulled her into him, holding her tightly against his chest. Tilting her face upwards, he kissed her deeply, hoping that it would convey his feelings better than his fumbling explanations ever could. "I will, Daine," he promised when he finally released her, pressing his lips to her hair.

She tried to push back, but unwilling to release her even a little, he merely shifted his arms slightly, allowing her to turn her head so that she could speak. "You don't even know what I'm asking."

He smiled wryly, closing his eyes as he buried his face in her hair. "But I do." _Oh, but I do_.

* * *

They were being called one by one.

The previous day, letters requesting individual meetings with those few of King Jonathan and Queen Thayet's mages and fighters who had not yet received their war duties had begun to be delivered. Numair's had arrived that morning, and sought to meet with him the following afternoon. Disconcertingly, Daine had received no such note yet. Neither of them discussed it as they walked through the Palace gardens late that night under an ominously cloudy sky. There was still time yet, Numair thought determinedly. It would be foolish for Jonathan and his strategists to divide their talents, and in any case, he wouldn't try, not after all they'd been put through. Numair didn't even like to contemplate what it would be like if they were separated, nor the increasingly nagging feeling that they would be. It simply was not an option.

He pushed the grim thoughts from his mind. Though neither he nor Daine had been directly involved in the war as yet, it felt as though their lives had been consumed by it since their return to the Palace, with both of them involved in planning meetings, and Daine spending much of her time gathering animals to spy and examining and healing those who had returned. Two weeks ago they would have given anything to be out of Golden Wood and helping. Now, he mused wryly, he would have given anything to escape the duty for a day or two. He dreaded to think how he would feel after a few months.

They wandered aimlessly through the gardens, his companion pausing now and then to greet the animals who flocked to her, talking of everything but the war, before they found themselves in a secluded alcove. Perfumed Yamani flowers surrounded them, filling the cool night air with their scent. In a former life, he would probably have made some comment about the flowers not matching her beauty and various other inane flatteries, but not with Daine, and especially not now.

Instead, they spoke of nothing in particular, of friends and acquaintances, books and scholars, skirting round the issues they faced. There was one, however, that Numair felt he had to help her confront. "Your parents," he said suddenly into the night. Daine stiffened beside him. "It's Beltane in a week. You promised me that you'd think about it."

"I still am," she said defensively.

"I know you're upset, Daine, but perhaps – have you thought that something might be preventing them from coming through?"

"They're _gods_, Numair," she scoffed. "What could possibly hold them back?"

Even as she said it, Numair knew she didn't fully believe it. "They're _minor_ gods," he agreed. "And you said yourself, the gods have rules."

"If the Graveyard Hag had to follow them in her own country, imagine what they'd have to do," she thought aloud.

"Precisely."

She turned to him with an annoyed scowl. "How do you do that?" she demanded. He offered her a lopsided smile and slid an arm around her shoulders. She relaxed into his hold, her head resting against his chest, but Numair could feel the nervous thrill of tension that ran through her. "But still though – not even the slightest _hint_ from them that they know where I am. Nothing to let me know that my Ma's still – well, not alive, but not dead either. And nothing from _him_ at all. Just the Badger, and he's never told me a thing about them, not really."

He took a moment to consider his words, wondering how he could impress this on her. "Daine, listen to me. You've said yourself that there might be rules that have stopped them from visiting you; we've talked before about the fact that your mother might not have wanted to scare you by trying to contact you. Can you imagine how you'd have felt if you thought you were hearing the voices of the dead, or receiving images of them? You'd have been _convinced_ you were going mad, and I'm not so sure that I'd have been able to dissuade you of that again with those thoughts in your head. It was hard enough work the first time, and sometimes I'm not so sure you _weren't_ right." It drew the outraged squeak of laughter that he had hoped for, and he smiled winningly at her before pressing on, his voice growing serious once more. "We can't know any of their reasons for the way they've acted, but I hope you've learnt enough from me that you know when to ask for the answers; ask _them_.

"If you don't ask, then think of what you could be missing," he exhorted her. "I know you've always wanted to find out who your father is, I know how much you've missed your mother, I've watched you dealing with your grief – and you have a unique chance to see her again. If you don't – if you refuse that opportunity then you have to consider _why_. I know you're upset, and I know you're annoyed with them, but if you refused to meet her, you'd be doing it to gall her more than anything, and that's not you, magelet. Don't cut off your nose to spite your face."

She scowled, raising her head to examine his features; disconcertingly, her gaze settled on his nose. "That would take some effort for you, but you seem to manage it enough."

"Daine."

She sighed loudly, moving in her seat; for a moment, Numair feared that she'd push away from him, but instead she curled in closer to his body, wrapping her arms around him. "I know. And I want to, it's just –" she broke off, lowering her head. After a moment of silence, he tilted her face upwards with a gentle thumb, though she refused to meet his gaze, her eyes sliding from his in attempt to conceal the pain that Numair could see so evidently. "But why, Numair? Why – what if –" She trailed off, clearly unable to find a way to express herself properly.

_Oh sweetling_, he thought sadly, lifting her into his lap so she could bury her face in his shoulder. _I wish I had the answers you need._

* * *

When Numair came back to his rooms after his War Council meeting, Daine was waiting for him. She watched him pace around his small private living room, picking up pieces of parchment or books and then dropping them down heavily, running a hand through his hair with frustration and muttering angrily. After watching him prowl around for nearly quarter of a bell finally she attempted to break through his black disposition.

"When are we leaving?"

The mage span on his heel, not looking at her. "_We_ are not."

"I'm sorry?"

"_We_ aren't leaving. Not together, anyway."

She sprang to her feet. "_What?_"

Still pacing, he glanced at her. "That is exactly what I said, magelet."

"Why not?"

"Apparently our talents are put to better use separated. I'm going to the south, to deal with the Imperial mages." He sighed, reining his temper in as he spoke and admitting quietly, "It's also rumoured to be where Ozorne and Hadensra are. And – you're going north, from what I've heard so far. You're to be employed in 'the detection of enemy forces in mountainous ground.'"

"Where all the immortal trouble is," she said absently.

Numair nodded and continued. "Your destination isn't settled yet, but the party riding north isn't leaving for a while yet."

"And those going south?"

Numair's pacing faltered for a moment, before continuing. He wouldn't look at her. "Tomorrow," he said in a strangled voice.

"Tomorrow?"

He murmured his confirmation.

"Did you try telling them that we couldn't?"

"Yes," he said sharply. "Several times." He caught sight of her face and sighed, rubbing a hand across his chin, rasping against a day's worth of stubble. "I'm sorry magelet. I've tried, I really have."

Weakly, she asked, "Did you tell them why?"

"Yes, Daine, I did." Finally he came over to her, enveloping her hands in his large ones. "I explained to Jon after the meeting had ended, but he said nothing could be done. He's going south with us, and he said he and Thayet were in the same boat." He smiled slightly. "Or not, as the case may be." The mage gave another irritated sigh. "I wish there was something more that I could do, but I've tried every argument I can think of."

"But surely if the north is where the immortal trouble is they need mages?"

"They already have them, sweetling. The City of the Gods, remember?" He traced soft fingers across her cheek and down the side of her face. "Mages are spread across the northern border. In the south, the trouble is with troops and enemy mages. That's where I'm needed most."

"There must be immortals in the south."

"There are," the mage sighed, "just not as many as on the northern border." He attempted a smile. "There is one particular immortal in the north though, remember?"

Daine's heart lifted, albeit briefly. "Kitten," she breathed. Numair nodded, his fingers entangling themselves in her hair.

"Someone needs to be with her, Daine, and we both know that it must be you. If I can't be with her, I'd at least feel a little better knowing that you were." He shook his head in despair and, not for the first time, Daine had a flash of how much he missed the dragonet. "We're lucky that either of us will be going where she is at all."

She nodded and then paused, frowning. "But if she and Tkaa are on the move, who's to say I will be?"

Numair shook his head. "Jonathan swore to me that you'd be together."

"When? Just now?"

"No." The mage blushed. "He wrote to me not long after we were told that she was headed north. I was so caught up in – everything, really, that I must've forgotten to tell you."

The young woman uttered a dry laugh. "Typical. It's odd though, don't you think, that he didn't write to me to tell me that."

Numair lifted an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth quirking. "That's probably because you're not in the habit of writing letters to berate him on his war plans."

She laughed truly this time. "As if you know about war strategies and tactics!"

"I'll have you know, I'd been reading rather a lot of Emry of Haryse that week." Daine fixed him with a raised brow, struggling to contain her laughter. "I _had_," he told her innocently. "Anyway, I knew you wouldn't tell him honestly what you thought, and one of us had to."

"And I suppose you couldn't have gotten him to swear that _we'd_ not be separated then?"

His expression was forlorn. "If I'd known – Daine, of course I would have. I never even contemplated the possibility. If I had – I'm sorry. I promised you that I'd be with you."

She took his hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. "It's not as if either of us have any control over it," she told him matter-of-factly. "Sometimes it's not practical for us to _always _be together, much as neither of us like it. We're only being sent where we're needed most, and it's always been like that for us. That's why we're here, after all."

A small smile touched his lips. "You are as sensible as ever, magelet. Thank you."

"At least one of us is." She paused and frowned. "Though who's going to look after you?" Daine swallowed, forcing down the burning lump in her throat and tried smiling bravely. "Perhaps I could sneak off with you anyway. I could change myself into a mouse and stow away in your bed roll, and only come out in your tent."

Numair raised his eyebrows. "As interesting as that sounds, and even though I'd be more than willing to try that, Daine, I'm not sure it's the best of ideas." He pulled her closer. "More than willing, though," he said, his voice warm.

Daine giggled, before letting her smile fade. "What are we going to do?"

Numair sighed, his face becoming grim once more. "I don't know, magelet." He wrapped one arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his body. "We might just have to manage, though."

"I don't like it," she whispered, her voice small.

"I don't either," he assured her, his arm tightening. "But as you said, we've little choice in the matter, and even if we did, I would still want to head south, and you'd still want to go north for Kitten." He led her to a seat and sat down, pulling her down beside him. Instantly she curled into his side, lowering her head and tucking it into the crook of his neck in order to hide her face from him. Numair's arms slipped around her and he rested his chin on the top of her head. "It makes sense," he admitted eventually with reluctance. "I _need_ to go south, if that's where the worst of the mage trouble is."

"And I'd need to go north, even if Kitten wasn't there," she added miserably. This reasoning didn't stop dread pricking at her skull and filling her with cool nerves. "Only…" she trailed off.

Numair leaned back and shifted his grip on her, forcing her to meet his gaze. He scrutinised her face closely for a long moment, before pressing a gentle and reassuring kiss to her lips.

"Will you be all right?" he asked softly. Daine's face stiffened, and Numair had to bite back his amused expression. He had known she wouldn't answer him that. Her eyes revealed more to him than the rest of her defiant expression, and Numair thought he knew exactly how she felt. "I came across some scrolls I thought you might be interested in last night, magelet. I was planning to give them to you tomorrow but it seems we won't have the chance now, and – I was intending on doing some more reading tonight. You'd be more than welcome to join me, if you're interested in them."

Some of the nervousness in her eyes lessened as her body visibly relaxed. "Always," she replied, offering him a brave smile.

He touched a thumb to her chin and smiled back as her expression became genuine. "Tonight, then," he murmured, desperately forcing down the increasing suspicion that it would be the last night they spent together huddled over a book. They would have more nights together, he was determined. It wouldn't be over before it had begun.

**

* * *

**

Miri being Daine's unsettling news. ;) Poor Daine. In fact, never mind that, poor Miri. Don't worry, there's much more to come about her. Now, very unsubtly, like Alanna, I'm asking for reviews!


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